


Never-Ending Encore

by Jaygrl22



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Don't Have to Know Canon, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gotham City is Terrible, How Do I Tag, Humor, I Don't Even Know Canon, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Metahumans, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Possible Smut?, Silly at Times, Why?, cuz she's dumb, idk what i'm doing but i'm having a good time, small town girl moves to gotham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27561445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaygrl22/pseuds/Jaygrl22
Summary: Okay. Ignoring all the death and dying, Eden Smith is a fairly normal person. So maybe not everyone grows up on a farm and gains a new “cousin” every few years, and— I mean, yeah, most people don’t have a mother who definitely used to kill people for a living, or have a father who walked out when they refused to become a superhero, or ran away to Gotham without telling anyone they know, or— or—  Okay, FINE! Maybe Eden ISN'T entirely normal.Can’t you just let her eat her cookies and die a couple times in peace? Sheesh!(Jason Todd/Red Hood x OC)
Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Character(s), Jason Todd/Original Female Character(s), Red Hood/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter 1

It was, for once, a quiet night in Eden’s apartment. Her upstairs neighbors weren’t hosting an orgy, nor starting World War 3; the baby downstairs wasn’t crying bloody murder, and her next-door-neighbor wasn’t screaming at their TV.

Out on the street, it was equally quiet. Sure, a car alarm had gone off a few minutes ago, but there was no drunken shouting. No random gunshots, no gratuitous explosions in the distance. In fact, for what must’ve been the first night since she’d moved there, the city of Gotham actually seemed at ease.

Maybe that should’ve put Eden on edge. Maybe it was some kind of warning, a calm before an inevitable storm. But it was the first sense of peace she'd felt in months. She couldn't just ignore it. Instead of curling up on her bed with her headphones at full blast, questioning her life choices, she sat out on the fire escape and enjoyed the calm night.

Her apartment was situated just high enough to peek over the roofs of most of the neighboring buildings. The outline of Gotham’s tallest skyscrapers stood in the distance and car lights twinkled on the nearby highway like stars. Out here, a thick stench of smog and rotting trash usually choked the air, but tonight a soft breeze blew it away. A soft mixture of brick, iron, the herbs she was growing, and her freshly baked cookies took its place.

If she closed her eyes and tried – really, _really_ tried – it almost felt like being back home.

The thick blanket wrapped around her could just as easily be protecting her from splinters on the front porch. The distant sound of cars could be a gust of wind blowing through the trees or the horses playing in the field. Her freshly baked snickerdoodles couldn’t be Mama’s – nobody’s cookies _ever_ tasted as good as Mama’s – but Eden could at least pretend she’d made them at their small bakery at the edge of the road.

She ate another, savoring the warm, chewy center and trying not to focus on the difference in taste. She was baking most of their goods by heart by the time she was ten years old. Blindfold her, tie one hand behind her back, and Eden could still probably make anything on the menu without much trouble. But for some reason, here… things didn’t taste the way they were supposed to.

They still tasted _good_ , she assured herself as she took another bite _._ It was probably just the store-bought ingredients she’d had to settle for. Or the city water. Or that they made her miss home.

Eden frowned. She quickly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, pushing the idea away. She had more important things to worry about right now than cookies and tastes. Like her newest job.

She'd landed a new role just last week and the sooner she could be off-script, the happier her director would be. She only spoke in three scenes of this show, but that was two more than the previous one and she was on-stage for several more. The better she did, the better her referrals would be. The better the referrals, the more work she would get, and the closer she would be to getting bigger roles. When she got bigger roles, she’d get even better referrals, which would land her even _bigger_ roles, and so on and so forth until she could afford an apartment in a, uh… less _interesting_ part of Gotham.

Even in this hotbox-of-crime neighborhood, her studio apartment somehow cost more than _twice_ the two-bedroom house Kit and her boyfriend were renting back home. And the insurance fees in Gotham? Outrageous. But sadly necessary considering all the nutzo shenanigans that went down in the city. As much as it would kill her to work in an office, those insurance companies probably made some serious bank, so getting a “real job” at one at some point wasn’t _totally_ off the table.

Eden huffed, unclipping her reading light to turn the page of the script and attaching it again. She had a good thing going now, but she was more than aware it was borrowed time.

Eventually, Frank's money would run out. Eventually, she’d need to call home and explain herself. _Eventually_ eventually, she’d have to actually _go_ home. She’d have to face everyone’s feelings of hurt and betrayal, including her mother’s, which would most certainly be laced with Louanne Smith's particularly frightening brand of ice-cold wrath. Eden would also probably get mugged or murdered in this insane city at least twice and have to listen to everyone's “I told you so"s.

But that wasn’t right now. _Right_ _now_ , Eden had it okay.

She had a small, shitty apartment in a huge, shitty city where she would most certainly die if she wasn’t careful, but at least it was her own place. No overbearing mother always staring over her shoulder, no runaways taking her bed for the night, no rag-tag group of semi-siblings gobbling up her time and space and arguing house rules when she fought back. This was _her_ space, damn it, and she didn’t have to share it with anybody unless she wanted to! Not that she’d want anyone else coming to such a colorful part of Gotham in the first place, but still! It was _hers_.

And nobody here _knew_ her. There was no history she had to take into account every time she stepped outside; no old rivalries or mishaps that mapped out which side of town she was and wasn’t safe on. In Gotham, you just plain old weren’t safe no matter who you were, where you were, or what you’d done. Eden had learned that quick. She almost preferred it some days. It was easier than the small-town, passive-aggressive grudges and back-stabbings she'd grown up around.

Not to mention she had Gotham’s robust, ever-growing performance industry at her disposal. Despite all the insanity and crime that surrounded them – or, perhaps, _because_ it surrounded them – the wealthy here demanded a constant stream of grand symphonies, operas, ballets, and so forth to distract them. Performers in Gotham were paid better than anywhere else in America. They had to be. With how often performances were interrupted by madmen and villains here, it had to be worth the risk.

For Eden, that risk wasn't something she really needed to consider. If something happened, she'd be fine. She always was. She was "lucky" like that.

And besides, fewer people willing to risk getting shot or blown up in the middle of a performance meant fewer people at auditions! Getting to be on stage, getting to follow her dreams... That was one of the ways Eden had convinced herself to leave the farm in the first place. And Gotham was the best place for her to achieve those dreams as quickly as possible. So things were okay.

Really! Even if she was a little homesick, even if this dirty town was too crowded and too crazy, even if guilt hung over her like a knife... things were okay.

In fact, at this exact moment – in the strange but welcomed quiet of the night, practicing what she loved, eating still-warm cookies out in the open air – things felt better than okay. Things for once, actually, _genuinely_ , felt good.

Then, a shadow flickered over her.

Eden froze.

Her free hand hovered over the plate of cookies. She’d been turning in such a way, leaning over the stair she was sitting on to reach the plate, that all her weight was now pushing into her toes. It was a hard position to hold without falling over. Blinding, too. Her head was cast down, facing the cookies and not at all in the direction of the shadow.

She wanted to move. Just enough to right herself and let her look somewhere beyond the metal grating underneath her. But Eden could practically hear Mr. Monroe, her old coach, scolding her.

“Hold position!” he’d say. Then, after noticing her shaking knees, he would trill, “I said _hold_ , Eden! Keep your limbs still. Breathe carefully. I don’t want to see a _single_ sign of life. In this moment, you _are_ a prop. You _are_ the scenery!”

The fire escape gave a small, almost unnoticeable shake as something dropped near her. Eden's limbs jerked instinctively. She shut her eyes, silently cursing, hoping it was just a raccoon.

Did Gotham even _have_ raccoons? Eden hoped very much that they had raccoons. Giant, mutant raccoons that could cast large shadows and make fire escapes shake when they landed.

“You planning on staying like that all night or…?” a distorted voice asked.

Heartbreaking News: Gotham City does _not_ have mutant raccoons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this just another shameless self-insert fic? Bitch, it might be.  
> jk, I hope you'll give it a chance! 🥺


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cookies make everything better, right? RIGHT!?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: minor swearing, minor panic/anxiety attack

“You planning on staying like that all night or…?”

Eden silently cursed herself, the world, and everything in it. Some small part of her still hoped whoever it was wasn’t _actually_ talking to her. Just… somehow magically right next to her without noticing her. And... talking to someone else on her fire escape. Yeah.

Eden quietly huffed at her own idiocy and slowly began to move. She scooted back onto the metal stair, shifting her weight off her aching toes. For a moment she just stayed like that. Praying for… she didn’t know what. Some kind of miracle. Then, with a gulp, she finally inched her head in the direction of the voice. 

A man – a _huge_ man – leaned casually against the metal railing of her fire escape. He wore a full red helmet that obscured his every thought and intention from the world. His arms were crossed as he, apparently, observed her.

"What, nothing to say?" he asked, his voice somehow modulated to sound almost robotic.

Eden just stared at him. The white “eyes” of his helmet were forever etched into an angry sort-of look that made her nervous.

Well... _more_ nervous. She was already struggling with the fact that he had suddenly, magically, appeared on her fire escape _on the 9th freaking floor_. And with the fact that he was a thick, 6-foot-something mass of muscle who could probably snap her in half if he wanted. And that he had a pair of pistols holstered to his hips. _And_ that this was happening in Gotham City; the place filled with not only violence and corruption on every corner, but actual, real-life, will-kill-you-for-funsies _villains_.

Needless to say, it was a lot to take in.

“Unless you wanna risk getting shot,” the man said evenly, apparently choosing to ignore her silence, “you should go inside now. Shit’s about to go down out here.” 

“Are you a good guy,” she blurted in a high, fearful pitch, “or a bad guy?”

The man said nothing. After a moment, his helmet shifted very slightly to the side.

A stream of curses ran through Eden’s mind. She was so dumb. Why was she so dumb? Why couldn’t she just keep her damn mouth shut? She knew, logically, that she’d eventually be fine no matter what – she always got another encore – but that didn’t mean she had to help dig her own grave, damn it!

The man shrugged and, after a moment, said, “Depends on who you ask.”

“I asked you,” she shot back, then blanched at her own brazenness. This was _no_ time to be Louanne Smith’s daughter. “Sorry,” she said dropping her head. “I, uh— I meant… I asked _you,”_ she tried sweetly. “Um, sir.”

A short sound came out of him. It was too distorted to know what it was meant to convey, but Eden desperately hoped it was amusement.

“As long as you’re not working for any drug cartels or mob bosses, you should be fine.”

“Oh, darn!” she said snapping her fingers. “There goes my five-year plan!”

The man didn't say anything. His head shifted back slightly. Eden had no idea if that was a good thing or not.

An actress needs to know how to read their audience, and Eden usually considered herself pretty good at it. But with Mr. Ominous Angry Helmet, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. He could be amused; he could think she’s an idiot; he could be thinking about shooting her. She just didn’t _know._ And _t_ hat only made everything worse _._

Anxious, jittery energy shot through her limbs, jerking her into motion. She swung her body away from the unnerving man, picked up the plate at her side, and turned back to him in one quick, unbroken movement. Her blanket fell off her shoulders with the action and the cool night air felt like knives against her hot skin.

“Would you like a cookie, sir?” Her voice was up a few octaves and moving fast. “They’re snickerdoodles. Homemade. My mama’s recipe. Fresh from the oven and still–” she lifted one trembling hand, hovering it over the few remaining cookies “–yep, still pretty warm.” She lifted the plate closer to him. “Do you want some, Mister, uh–” she glanced down at the symbol on his chest “–Red Bat, sir?” 

The man’s silence was deafening.

Eden stared at the cookies, hating her brain, questioning her sanity, and cursing herself internally. She didn’t want to die tonight. More importantly, she didn't want to be _shot_ tonight _._ Or ever again, really. Being shot _hurt_. If she were never shot again in her life, it would be too soon. And yet, here she was. Probably about to be shot again because she couldn’t shut her goddamn flap. 

After what felt like an eternity, the man finally asked, “Did you really just offer me cookies... and call me Red _Bat?”_

“Yes?” she squeaked. Then, unable to stop herself, a slew of words spewed out from her. “I’m really, _really_ sorry if I offended you, sir, but I only just moved to Gotham a little while ago, so I still don’t know who all the important masked people in the city are, and, in my defense, there are a _lot_ of important masked people in this city, and honestly, I still don’t even know all the good guys from the bad guys yet, which is why I was asking you earlier, but I really don’t wanna get shot either way, so if you could maybe just consider sparing me this one time, I swear I’ll figure it all out and just forget this whole thing ever happened and move somewhere far, far away, or I could start a fan club for you or something if you really wanted me to, or maybe even—”

“Whoa, _whoa!”_ Mister Not-Red-Bat said putting up his hands. “Easy there!” He knelt down, making himself far smaller. “I get it. You’re new in town.” His distorted voice wavered — like maybe he was trying not to laugh or freak out himself. “Calm down and take a breath before you pass out, alright? It’s no big deal.”

“Oh. Okay. Good. No big deal. Good to know.”

 _“Breathe,”_ he reminded her.

“Right. Sorry. Breathing. Important. I should do that." 

The man nodded along, urging Eden _to_ do that. 

It took a few tries, but eventually, she was actually able to take a full, deep breath. The man breathed with her, moving his whole body with the motion to guide her. His movements were so exaggerated Eden couldn't help but feel like she was on a stage with him, performing in front of an invisible crowd. She watched him, following his slow lead as her nerves began to settle. 

She turned away, letting out a long, even breath. 

“Better?” he asked.

“Yeah... Thanks." She looked at him again, wondering why in the world he even bothered to help her in the first place. "Are you... one of Gotham’s vigilante people?”

He nodded. “Yeah, Red Hood.” He reached behind his helmet and lifted a red hood attached to the back of his leather jacket for her to see. _“Hood,”_ he said again. “Not bat.”

She smiled at the action. “Hood, not bat,” she repeated. “Got it. Sorry about that."

“It's fine. You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Sor—"

He lowered his head in her direction. She could almost feel him giving her an unimpressed look. 

"Uh— I mean—” Her cheeks burned against the cool night air. She offered up the plate of cookies again. “Snickerdoodle?”

Red Hood shook and lowered his head as a small noise escaped him. “I’m good.”

Eden's brows lifted up in surprise. She was almost _positive_ he was amused.

“No, really, I insist!" she said quickly. "This is going to be burned in my brain as one of the most embarrassing moments of my life anyway,” she admitted with playful ease, “I’d at least like to know I compensated you for your role in it. Beautiful performance, by the way, Mr. Hood. Very well done. Excellent timing.”

Red Hood leaned forward again, clearly snickering this time.

“And besides,” she continued, excited now, “you’re a vigilante in Gotham _City_ , of all places! That’s a tough gig, Mr. Hood. You deserve to be rewarded for your troubles! And what reward could be better than homemade snickerdoodles by a random civilian? I mean, really now, I ask you.”

He shook his head minutely as she waved a hand around the plate of cookies like a showgirl. She wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, sounding like he might be fighting back a laugh. He grabbed a small handful of snickerdoodles and tucked them into a coat pocket. “Thanks for the reward, random civilian.”

She smiled up at him. “You’re more than welcome, Mr. Hood.” She took a cookie for herself, pleased to have convinced him, and found it tasted better than before.

“You really should get inside now, though,” he said getting serious again. “I doubt your _neighbors_ ,” he nodded toward one of the buildings not far from her apartment, “will be as willing to share their goodies with me when I come knocking.”

Eden stopped chewing and stared at the building. Part of her was a little in awe. She knew she was in a not-so-great part of the crime capital of the world, but she hadn’t imagined anything vigilante-worthy was _actually_ happening on her crummy little street.

She looked back at Red Hood a moment, processing the information, then quickly finished her cookie and started tossing her things into her apartment.

“Okay, well, good luck, Mr. Hood!” she chimed climbing through the window. “Have fun, or whatever you’re supposed to tell a vigilante before they go, uh…” She frowned and quirked a quick brow at him. “Vigilanteeing?”

With one foot resting atop the wrought iron railing, Red Hood looked as big and threatening as he had before, but Eden wasn't afraid this time. He was a good guy. Ready to jump off into the night and bust some bad guys. But for the moment, he just stared at her.

He tilted his head. _“Vigilanteeing?”_ he teased, _undeniably_ amused.

Eden turned away from him, her face heating up. “Whatever you call it! Do good deeds, don’t get shot — all that fun stuff. Have fun vigilante times or whatever.”

Red Hood made another sound – laughing at her – and Eden stared at the floor, hating her big mouth and wishing she could just phase out of existence. When she gathered the courage to look up again, she was surprised to find her fire escape empty.

A bit foolishly, she poked her head back out the window. She looked in the direction of the building Red Hood had indicated, but there was nothing to see. No Red Hood, no thugs, no nothing. Just an unusually quiet night on her even-less-safe-than-she-thought street.

But somewhere in the shadows, a vigilante was about to make things a little better. Eden was glad to know that, and glad to have thanked him for it in her own small way. She knew how hard a life like that could be and had nothing but respect for the people who chose it.

Eden, however, _didn’t_ choose a life like that. She was perfectly happy being a totally random civilian, thank you very much. So she shut and locked her window, put on her headphones, and tried to have as much of a totally random civilian evening as possible.

She cleaned the dishes, studied her script, and went to bed early. Just like any normal person might. She ignored the sound of gunshots that managed to pierce through her music. She ignored the red and blue lights that eventually flashed outside her window. She ignored the voice in her head that told her she should've offered Red Hood her help – which was stupid for many, _many_ reasons – and she desperately fought off the thought that kept drilling into her head — that if he died tonight, it would be her fault.

When she got up in the morning, haggard and ill-rested, she went to the window straight away. There was nothing in the light of the day to suggest anything vigilante-worthy had happened on her street in the night. It was as dirty as usual, with the usual suspects mulling around their usual spaces. Everything was in its grubby, crummy place. The only difference was the yellow line of police tape and the few broken windows in the building Red Hood had nodded to.

Eden sighed, wondering about the vigilante and what had happened to him. She started to shut the window again when she noticed a folded scrap of paper sticking out from one of her tiny pots of herbs. She plucked it out and carefully opened it. 

_‘Thanks again for the cookies. They were really good. - RH’_

Eden smiled and let out a breath, the night's worries instantly lifted from her shoulders. She re-folded the little note and went to find a safe place for it — completely and totally ignoring the bloodstain along the paper's edge. 

Yup. Totally ignoring it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me your thoughts on the chapter, especially with how I wrote Jason. I hope I did well but I could really use some feedback to know what worked, what didn't, etc. so I can do better/be more confident in the future. Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has opinions, Eden is Lonely™, and grocery shopping late at night is the best way to fight off a panic attack in Gotham City. Nothing bad could possibly happen. Nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: minor anxiety/panic attacks, canon-typical violence (attempted assault & reliving previous assault), nonchalance towards death/dying, swearing, blood

Eden was an actress in a big city, not a baker on a farm. But she grew _up_ in a bakery on a farm, and over the years she'd amassed a long laundry list of things to do on said farm that helped ease her nerves. She'd always loved that simple things like taking long walks, racing horses, bucking hay, cleaning stalls, shooting targets, blasting music, and putting in extra time at the bakery were enough to clear her head and calm her racing mind. But in Gotham, those simple things were incredibly hard to come by.

There were no fields or woods to walk through near her apartment. No horses to ride or bales of hay to chuck. No stalls or animals to tend to. There must've been a shooting range or two somewhere in the city, but she didn’t have the time, nor money, to go to one every time she felt frazzled. All she had here was music and baking, and even then she had to compromise.

With thin walls surrounding her, she couldn't belt her heart out or freely crank music high enough to shake her bones. She had neighbors to consider! (Even if they rarely seemed to consider _her.)_ And baking only calmed her down when she could really get lost in the process. That was easy when you could, say, whip up ten loaves of bread for tomorrow's hungry customers. But Eden was only one person. She couldn't eat more than a single loaf of bread or helping of muffins or whathaveyou in a _week_ without making herself sick, and only making one batch of something was rarely enough to settle her down. 

She needed to figure out _something_ to do in this city, though. And quick. Because otherwise, she was going to drown.

Ever since finding that note from Red Hood, Eden had been bubbling with the urge to tell someone about their encounter. She almost called home to tell Kit or one of the boys. _Almost_. But that would’ve meant telling them where she was, explaining how she got there, and admitting what had happened in the days before she left. She wasn’t ready for that talk yet. She was especially not ready for Mama to know anything. Granted, she probably already knew more than Eden wanted her to, but talking to someone else back home would only guarantee it.

Eden couldn't risk that. So she settled on telling her coworkers instead.

The morning after the whole fiasco, Eden waited for their first break to tell her tale. She got about two sentences in when—

“Hold up,” one of the girls, GG, said suddenly. “You met _the_ Red Hood last night?”

Eden nodded. “Yeah, outside my apartment,” she said again. It sounded better than saying on her fire escape.

“Whoa. You’re lucky to be alive!”

“I... What?”

“Don’t be an idiot, G,” one of the guys, Aaron, said. “Everyone knows Red Hood stopped killing people ages ago.”

“You seriously believe that?” she scoffed. “The guy was a mob boss. Decapitating gang lords and collecting their _heads.”_

 _“What?”_ Eden yelped, glancing frantically between the two of them. 

GG ignored her. “You really think he just, what, gave all that up? Give me a break.” 

“He works with _Batman_ ,” Aaron said rolling his eyes. “He’s one of the good guys.”

“If he was _really_ a ‘good guy’,” she said making air-quotes, “he wouldn’t be shooting people up every night.”

"He’s not _killing_ anybody," he pshawed, flicking his wrist to shoo the notion away. “Honestly, I wish he _was_ killing people still. Gotham was so much safer then."

GG shook her head at him, clearly annoyed. Eden blinked at them, mouth open wide with questions on her tongue, but the director called for everyone to wrap it up. GG grumbled something at Aaron as they walked back to the stage area, and he glared at her, but rehearsal continued without any more talk of Red Hood.

Eden probably should’ve gotten the hint there, that maybe she should keep the night's events to herself, but she couldn’t help herself. Now she _really_ wanted to tell someone about what had happened. It was ridiculous enough before, but hearing the vigilante she'd given cookies to – who'd helped her through a _panic_ _attack_ – was actually an ex-killer? A former mob boss who collected people’s _heads?_ It was a whole new level of bizarre! She could barely wrap her head around it!

The whole thing fogged her mind for the rest of the day. When everyone was finally dismissed, she nearly exploded as she and a few others left for the subway station.

"I met Red Hood last night!" she announced.

"Ooo, lucky!" one of the leads said. "He's _so_ cool!"

"Yeah, he—" 

"He's not _cool_ , Marsha," another lead, Veronica, interrupted to chide her friend. "He's a _killer."_

 _"Was_ a killer," one of the guys said. "He's a good guy now. He doesn't do that anymore."

"Yeah, he does," someone else argued. "Just not in Gotham."

"That's not true."

"Is too! And he's a total badass for it!"

They went into a detailed retelling of one of Red Hood's 'badass' exploits, complete with sound effects for the guns and explosions. One of the guys told a different story, painting the things Red Hood did as inexcusable and unforgivable. Someone else mentioned their younger sister getting a Red Hood toy from a fast food joint not too long ago. Veronica called that despicable and said it sent kids the wrong message; someone else said she was being too judgemental.

Eden listened quietly to them all, captivated by the native Gothamites' nonchalance as they went back and forth on the violent, graphic things Red Hood had done and how they each felt about it. Eventually, one of the girls, Marsha, scoffed and began explaining in detail all the good that had come from the vigilante's not-so-good deeds. The conversation got more intense as the group started to debate more seriously on whether or not Red Hood's actions were truly justifiable. A few passersby even added their two cents while the group was waiting to cross the street. It nearly turned into a full-on brawl when they started arguing if he was, could be, or ever _should_ _be_ considered a hero after all he'd done.

Eden could only stand there, flabbergasted by it all. Somehow she felt even more like a fish out of water than the day she'd first arrived in Gotham. Which, considering she'd stepped off that bus with only half a plan, a backpack full of belongings, and the duffel bag filled with Frank's cash, was saying a lot.

She watched them argue as long as she could — until she absolutely _had_ to leave to catch her train. The group showed no signs of stopping.

_“Are you a good guy or a bad guy?”_

_“Depends on who you ask.”_

Talk about an understatement! Red Hood must've known how contested he was. Everyone in Gotham seemed to have a strong opinion regarding him and that... that was _bad_. Continuing to bring him up was bound to get Eden into some kind of trouble sooner or later. _More_ trouble. That was the last thing she needed right now. As disappointing as it was, she knew she had to drop the whole thing and just keep it to herself...

But it was such a ridiculous experience! She'd randomly met a vigilante on her _fire escape._ An apparently very dangerous vigilante who helped her fight off a panic attack! And she made him laugh— _laugh!_ She made Gotham's big, scary, shoot-y vigilante _laugh!_ And she gave him _cookies!_ And he liked them enough to write her a damn _note!_ And he was an ex-MOB BOSS! It was impossible! It was hysterical! And it— it—

It didn't matter.

It didn't _matter_. She couldn't risk getting into any sort of hot water here. Maybe if she actually had someone to talk to in this city, somebody she could trust, it would be different. But she didn't have anybody like that. So it didn't matter. She was alone and had nobody, so the story would die with her. And that was that.

A dismal ache punctured her chest. Eden was alone. She... hadn't realized how true it was until just now. She had _nobody_ in this city. Nobody to talk to, no one to confide in... Not even with something as small and ridiculous as what had happened with Red Hood... 

For the first time in her life, Eden was truly and completely... _alone_.

The glowing, blissful solitude she’d reveled in for months was gone. Painful, heart-wrenching loneliness swallowed it whole. She had nobody. She had _nobody_. And it was all her fault.

For over a week, the tiny notebook she’d stored everyone's numbers in taunted her. Every night she sat at her small kitchen table flipping through its pages. She debated over whether or not to save them into her new phone or, heaven forbid, _call_ one of them until, finally, it was too much.

She would throw the notebook, and her phone, into the depths of her closet to stop the temptation. She would drown out her thoughts with painfully loud music. She would throw herself onto her mattress on the floor and scream into a pillow in an attempt to get everything out. Then, when she was too exhausted to do anything else, she would drift into a restless, dreamless sleep.

The next night, she did the same thing over again. And the night after that. And the one after that, too. It was an awful, vicious cycle — much like her encores.

Tonight looked like it would be no different. Sitting again at her small, scruffy kitchen table, Eden bounced her knee and stared at the notebook. In her hands, she fumbled with the phone she’d bought with Frank’s money.

She debated, yet again, on whether or not to sabotage everything. Was giving up worth not feeling so damn lonely anymore? Was she so desperate to just _talk_ to somebody she'd risk telling her family about everything before she was ready? Would she _ever_ be ready? What if she wasn't? What then? Would she have to feel this way forever?

Eden stood abruptly, her chair legs scraping across the floor. She started pacing.

Her apartment was small. A single room shaped like an awkward U. One small room that wasn't even half the size of the barn. One small, damned room with no woods, no creek, no nothing out back to walk through. No fields, no pastures, no space to breathe in. Just a single, small, damned room.

Eden's hands shook as her headphones blared. There were no horses in Gotham. No animals at all. No hay, no stalls, no targets. No creek, no woods, no family. No friends. No nothing. No one. Just Eden.

Eden. All alone.

The thin walls around her got smaller and smaller until, finally, she could take it no more. Eden ripped off her headphones and threw them at her bed. She carelessly stuffed her wallet, keys, and a can of mace into her coat pockets as she hurried out the door. She left her phone on the table. Bringing it with her wasn’t a good idea right now. She couldn't trust herself; there were too many numbers she knew by heart.

She marched loudly down the dark streets, channeling her wild, palpable energy into something that could resemble rage. It was a long trek to the store but thankfully there weren’t many people out. Those who were took one look at Eden charging down the sidewalk – looking like a demon on a warpath – and quickly turned their heads. She was grateful.

The old man working the checkout didn’t make any small talk when she walked in – people here _rarely_ made small talk – but he quirked a thick brow in her direction. He quirked it again when she only set down eggs, flour, sugar, vanilla extract, and yeast in front of him.

“Stress baking,” Eden told him.

He looked from her to the poorly lit streets beyond the store's barred windows. Then the old man nodded slowly like maybe she was crazy. Which was fair.

This was Gotham. It was nighttime. And she definitely felt crazy.

“Good luck,” he murmured, handing her her bags.

“Thank you.”

The walk back was harder. Worse, because her hands were full. No matter how angry she acted, she was still clearly vulnerable. That made everything feel darker and colder than it had before.

Even fewer people were out now, but Eden was easy prey. Some men took advantage and catcalled her as she passed. A few even followed her down a handful of streets, heckling and laughing while she reprimanded herself. 

Why couldn't she have just gone through with her usual routine? It was unsatisfying, yes, but safe. Why hadn’t she just gone to the store tomorrow? She could've broken the cycle then, when it was safe to go out. Not now. Not right _now._ What in the world made her think leaving her apartment right _now_ – in Gotham City, at night, in _this_ neighborhood – was not only a good idea, but her only sane one? Had she been possessed?

Eden's heart pounded fiercely in her chest. Her vision tunneled. The sidewalk stretched further and further into the night, never letting her closer to home no matter how fast she walked.

“Excuse me!” she chirped as she nearly ran into someone turning the corner. A pair of men looked down at her, surprised.

Eden ducked her head and scurried away, grimacing. Nobody in Gotham excuses themselves like that. Nobody in this neighborhood excuses themselves _at all._ It was a rookie mistake.

“Hey, wait a minute!” one of them called after her. “You ain’t from around here, are you?”

“You lost, pretty girl?” the other crooned, sounding closer. “Need some help finding your way?”

“No, I—” Eden snapped her mouth shut and moved faster.

 _Don’t_ talk back, she told herself firmly. _Don’t_ engage with them. And whatever you do, do _not_ be Louanne Smith’s daughter. Or Frank’s. Definitely don’t be Frank’s. You’ll only get yourself—

“Here, beautiful. Lemme help you with that.”

“Fuck off!” Eden shrieked, jerking away from the man and firmly planting her feet on the ground. The burly men shared an eager grin as they moved closer.

Well. At least she’d _tried_ not being her parents' daughter.

“ _Boys_ ,” she said slowly.“I appreciate the offer. Really. I'm downright _flattered_." Her voice dripped with an eerie mixture of danger and hospitality — something she’d picked up from her mother. "But I'm not interested. So why don't y'all skedaddle on home, hm?"

The bald one furrowed his brows.

The other scoffed. “It's too bad you feel that way, sweetheart.” He pulled out a knife. “Cuz we ain’t offering.”

His friend started to chuckle, leering at Eden like she was their next meal. She just stared at the knife, looking bored.

She stood as tall and proud as Frank had taught her but tried to treat the situation as her mother might — like the knife and their ogling and their heavy builds meant nothing to her. Acting as if her body was a far more potent weapon than anyone could fully comprehend. But that's all it was. An act _._ On the inside, her heart was racing faster than lightning. 

Where was her mace? Somewhere deep in the crevasses of her coat pockets? Had to be. Was it too late to start digging for it? Probably. Scrambling for it would just make her more vulnerable than she already was.

She cursed silently as she tossed her bags aside, careful not to disturb the eggs too much. Had she ever successfully wrestled a knife out of somebody’s grasp? Yes. Without getting stabbed first? Maybe, but it certainly wasn’t her strong suit. None of this was. That’s why she did _do_ stuff like this. She only got herself killed trying. At least it was a knife this time and not a gun.

Her mind, already in a frenzy, jumped back to that fight with Chris Henriksen. Her shoes skidding against the gravel of the diner’s parking lot as he tried to swing her off him. His finger on the trigger while she tried to twist the gun out of his grip. The gun firing, him shrieking in pain. His hand free, aiming at her.

A ring of shots. Sudden, ripping pain.

Her, against the gravel. Him, standing over her. The gun, cocked. Him—

 _“Fuck off!”_ she screeched again, louder this time. “I’m warning you, shitbags! I’m not afraid of you or your stupid fucking knife!”

The one with the knife grabbed her by the shirt. He pressed the blade into her neck. “You shut that filthy mouth of yours, you dirty fucking bitch," he growled. "Or I'll _give you_ something to be afraid of."

Eden stared him down. She glared at the other man, thinking. Could she win this fight? Two big, burly men against little ol' her? Maybe. Could she end it quickly though? Definitely. But it would cost her.

The man's eyes traveled downward. He licked his lips and Eden scowled.

Fuck it. She wasn't playing this game.

Eden lurched into action, grabbing for the knife — trying to bring it closer to her neck.

“Hey, you fucking psych— _"_ Eden slammed her knee into him, cutting him off. He doubled over as she tried to steal the knife from his hold. The second man grabbed her like a vice, nearly crushing her arm as he yanked her away from his friend.

Eden kicked and screamed and thrashed against him. She smashed the back of her skull against his nose. He swore loudly as he dropped her, clutching his face. She grabbed his arm and yanked him by the shoulder, swinging him over her like a huge sack of potatoes. His back hit the sidewalk and he let out a loud, satisfying, _"Oof!"_

The first man grabbed Eden again and flung her into the wall beside them. She turned just in time to see the knife sailing down toward her. 

It wouldn’t kill her. She knew that. A single stab wound rarely killed a person. She'd been stabbed enough times to know that. It would take a few more swings.

Her death tonight would be long and painful. She shut her eyes tight, wishing it could already be over. An encore was better than the alternative but... the pain was her least favorite part. 

She wondered if anyone on this street would bother calling the police. Hopefully, they wouldn’t. She didn't want to deal with that. She didn't know _how_ to deal with that. Not without her family there to help her out. 

More importantly, would anyone try to steal her groceries? Hopefully, not. That would be the _real_ tragedy of the night. Maybe her dead body would deter thieves. Or at least make them—

_BANG!_

Eden shrieked and the man in front of her howled.

She opened her eyes. The man staggered away from her, clutching his bloody, bleeding hand to his chest. Eden pressed herself further against the wall and slid down, trying to make herself as small as possible. His blood-drenched knife lay a few feet away. She grabbed it and held it tightly; the palm of her left hand wet and burning.

The man looked up – high, up toward the sky – and paled. Fear overtook his features and he turned, screaming bloody murder as he ran. His partner was already halfway down the street, swearing frantically.

A gun went off again, twice. Eden flinched at the sound.

Her attackers kissed the concrete as they fell. Once they hit the cold hard ground, they didn’t move. She didn’t move either. If they were already dead there was nothing she could do for them anyway. And even if they weren’t, she was more than happy to let them bleed out on the silent, empty street.

Eden inhaled deeply, trying to calm her shaken nerves, but couldn’t catch her breath. Her heart thundered in her chest as something wet dribbled down her shirt, down her fingertips. The world swayed and her body slunk over, falling completely against the building.

Was she still going to die? That didn’t seem fair.

Then again, the universe didn’t care what people thought was fair. It had its own rules; the number one being that it did what it wanted.

Eden stared at her groceries, unable to focus on anything else. She silently begged the universe to leave them alone. If she _had_ to die right now, going to the store _again_ was uncalled for. The universe would just be kicking her while she was down. If it could just give her this one, little, tiny sliver of kindness, she would be happy. She didn't need anything else. Just let her die and her groceries stay by her side. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Hey,” a sudden voice said at her side. “You okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WonDEr wHo SaVEd HeR????? Such a mystery!!!!!! Who could it be???????????
> 
> Anyway, I did my best to come up with a realistic fight/assault scene. Please let me know your thoughts!  
> Or comment on anything else! No pressure, but I love hearing from readers! 🥰💕🥰


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eden is just fine, thank you very much. Stitches? Hospitals? Noooooo thank you, sir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: minor swearing, minor blood, injured character, nonchalance towards death

“Hey, you okay?”

 _“Gah!”_ Eden snapped toward the sudden voice — too fast. Her vision went black.

Someone swore as the earth careened under her, spinning like a carousel gone wild. She slipped into the darkness, her stomach doing somersaults. It was as if a powerful storm had caught her and twisted her outrageously high into the air, leaving her hurtling blindly toward the earth.

Something strong grabbed her, holding her steady. Eden blinked, her sight gradually returning from the blackness. Everything continued to sway and she groaned in dizzy displeasure.

“Easy there,” the strange, familiar voice urged. “ _Easy_.”

She did her best to focus on the red figure in front of her. It swam around in her vision before eventually settling in place. A shiny red… _something_ above a strong pair of shoulders. A… head? No, no. It was a… a… Eden furrowed her brows, trying to pull the word from her murky mind.

A helmet. That’s what it was. And she knew the man wearing it. She remembered the angry look of his “eyes” and the way he’d towered over her. He’d frightened her. But then he laughed with her — and then he laughed _at_ her _._ She squirmed as the memory grew clearer.

“Hold still,” he ordered, his voice sounding more robotic than human. Under his brown jacket, a red symbol popped against the dark grey of the rest of him. A red bat.

Was that his name? No, no— it was Red _Hood_. He wore a red helmet and a red bat, but Red _Hood_ was his name. He’d made a joke about it. She remembered.

 _“Shit,”_ he hissed, looking down. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

_Blood?_

Slowly, Eden became aware of the pressure on her neck and the sticky wetness there that went all the way down her shirt. Then she noticed the same with her left hand. She tried looking down at them, but Red Hood forced her chin up. For that brief moment, her hand was empty.

“Hold _still_ ,” he said again.

“Okay,” she murmured, still struggling to come out of her daze. She felt the pressure on her hand again. “Are you holding my hand?”

“No. I’m trying to stop the bleeding.”

“Oh, okay.” She furrowed her brows. _“Why?”_

“Because you’ll die if I don’t.”

“Well, that’s not such a big deal,” she mumbled, confused by the gravity of his words. “It’s fine if I die, you know.”

Red Hood shifted and stared straight at her. Despite being unable to see it, his gaze was piercing. It drilled right through the fog in her mind, making Eden realize what she’d said. More importantly, she realized what it sounded like. Especially to someone who _didn’t_ know.

“I’m sorry!” she said jolting forward. Red Hood pushed harder against her neck, forcing her to lay against the building again. “That wasn’t—” She glanced down, embarrassed but trying not to move her head. “That wasn’t what I meant to say, I swear. I meant to say… um… I don’t know what I meant to say but it wasn’t, uh, _that_.”

Red Hood didn’t respond. The angry glare etched into his helmet’s white eyes amplified the intense, unreadable emotion coming off him.

Eden looked away, her face hot. From the corner of her eye, she caught the sight of one of her dead attackers.

“Um. So. About those guys…”

“Don’t worry,” Red Hood said gruffly. “They’re not dead.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” he scoffed.

“I’m not disappointed!” she said quickly. “Just…”

“Surprised?”

 _“No!_ …Okay, maybe a _little_ ,” she admitted. “But are they really not dead? You kinda shot them, Mr. Hood. Where I come from, that generally kills people.”

He made a short noise. “They’re alive, I promise.” He moved her head slightly, readjusting the pressure on her neck. “You’re the cookie girl,” he said after a moment.

Eden blinked at him in surprise. She didn’t think someone like him – a masked vigilante, an ex-mob boss and killer, a _hero_ – would remember a random spaz like her.

It wasn’t a question, but she still nod—

 _“Don’t_ nod.”

She totally did _not_ nod.

“I’m the cookie girl,” she confirmed with a smile. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Hood. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

Red Hood hummed, then quietly dipped his head. He glanced down to where the two men lay in the street, apparently still alive.

She couldn’t know for sure, but Eden had the sneaking suspicion his face held the same pensive look Mama's sometimes did. The one she slipped on when someone hunting for their spouse or kids started crossing a line. The look that warned people just how dangerous her mother could be. The silent reminder of what she could, _would,_ do to scumbags stupid enough to push their luck.

“I’m glad you liked them by the way,” Eden suddenly chirped, relieved when his attention returned to her. “The cookies, I mean. I got your note; it was very sweet of you to leave one. I guess everything went okay with the, uh,” she gestured vaguely in the direction of her apartment, “the vigilante thing on my street last week?”

He stared at her a moment. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, it worked out,” he said sounding more than a little baffled.

Eden grinned, pleased to have distracted him. “Glad to hear it, Mr. Hood." 

After another moment, Red Hood suddenly moved forward, tilting his head as the pressure on her neck lessened briefly. Then he did the same with her hand, checking it.

“The bleedings almost stopped,” he muttered to himself, almost in disbelief.

“Well, that’s good!”

He looked up at her again. She lifted her brows, smiling innocently. A small sound escaped him, either a scoff or a chuckle.

“And it doesn’t sound like you’re choking on blood.”

“More good news,” she said happy to hear the amusement in his distorted voice.

“And you have your chatty, chipper attitude back.”

“I’m not chatty and chipper,” she shot back. “I’m a witty bundle of nerves that doesn’t know how to shut up.”

“Oh, is _that_ what you are?” Red Hood asked with a snicker.

“Unfortunately, yes. As you can see, it’s worked out _very_ well for me so far.”

He mumbled something – too garbled by whatever it was that garbled his voice for Eden to understand – and shook his head. He looked over her wounds again. She could almost feel him frowning at her neck.

“You’re gonna need stitches for that.”

A hearty chuckle came from her throat. Her – _her!_ Eden Smith! – with _stitches!_ The boys would howl at the _moon_ if they heard!

But her humor quickly evaporated when a sudden, sharp pain followed the laugh.

She gasped as her body jerked. A stinging, burning feeling in her neck dug down into her chest. Every ounce of air hissed out of her lungs. She clutched at Red Hood’s hands — already on top of the deep cut and forcing more pressure back onto it.

“Don’t move. You’re okay,” he urged. “You’re okay, Cookie Girl.”

Eden – gapping like a fish out of water, blinking through the pain – still had the good sense to glare at him.

“ _Breathe_ ,” he told her.

She forced a deep breath of air into her lungs. Then another. And another.

“There you go,” he soothed. “You got it, Cookie Girl. Keep it up.”

“My name’s—” _wheeze_ “—not—” _wheeze_ “—Cookie Girl!”

“No offense, but I really don’t care right now.”

“Well, I do! My name’s Eden,” she said stubbornly. “Eden Smith.” She took one more good breath then forced her body to relax as the pain slowly ebbed. A few seconds passed, but Red Hood kept applying the same amount of force to her neck. “You can stop that now. I’m fine.”

He made a gruff noise. She gave him a small shove with her good hand but was like a breeze pushing against a hard rock: ridiculously ineffective. He got the hint though, and the pressure eased. She took another big breath right after, to reassure him.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “You need to get to a hospital.”

“Absolutely not, but thank you.”

Red Hood tilted his head. “Did you hit your head, too? I already said you needed stitches, and after that little episode—”

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” she said hurrying to her feet.

The world veered off its center again and Eden leaned too far over trying to correct it. Her body stumbled and fell into Red Hood as he came up after her. He caught her with unfair ease and Eden’s face exploded with heat.

“That was on purpose,” she grumbled, desperately ignoring how firm his muscles were as she used his arms to balance herself. “I’m fine.”

“You are definitely _not_ fine, Cookie Girl.”

“Eden.”

“Whatever. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

She’d just about gotten her footing back when he moved his hands around her. Surprised at the action, she jolted and slipped. Red Hood caught her with even greater ease a second time.

“Did you do that on purpose, too?” he mocked.

“I might’ve,” she said indignantly, her nose in the air.

He shook his head at her. He turned her so she could lean into his hold as he budged her forward, but Eden just used the position to dig her heels in. He huffed.

“You realize I can just throw you over my shoulder if you're gonna keep being difficult, right?"

“Mr. Hood, _please!”_

He stopped, startled perhaps by the seriousness of her plea. Eden took the opportunity to turn and face him again. She took a gloved hand in her good one, holding it as tightly as she could, begging him to listen.

“I’m sorry I’m being difficult – I really am – but you don’t understand. I _can’t_ go to the hospital, Mr. Hood, it’s… I'm...” She looked down, not sure what to say.

It wasn’t _dangerous_ , necessarily. Or bad, or unsafe. She _could_ go to the hospital and get treated. The victim of a mugging-gone-wrong needing some stitches wouldn’t raise any red flags. And if they told her to come back for a checkup, she could just cancel the visit later or skip it entirely.

The problem was her name. They could _not_ put her name into their databases.

Did hospitals let patients go by Jane Doe if they asked nicely? Maybe. But anonymous patients still have to tell the staff their name at some point, don't they? For payments or whatever? That was a risk Eden couldn't take, especially not for something as small as two little cuts.

Chances were, Mama already knew where she was. That was the first thing a person learned living under her roof: Louanne Smith always knows more than you think she does.

She was probably just leaving Eden alone for now, giving her space until she was ready to reach out unprompted. She probably checked in on her from time to time, too, in some invisible way Eden could only guess at.

But if her name popped up at a hospital, or an urgent care, or – heaven forbid – a morgue? There was no doubt in her mind that her mother would swoop into Gotham City and be standing face-to-face with her in mere _hours_. Eden couldn't handle that right now. And if Frank somehow caught wind of it, too? Now that he – apparently – cared about her well-being again?

Eden _really_ could not handle that possibility right now. Or _ever_.

“Alright.”

Eden peered up at Red Hood's sudden verdict. _“Alright?”_ she said.

“I won’t take you to a hospital.”

"You... You won't?" A breath of relief spilled from her lungs as her worries left her body. With a sincere, gracious smile, she put a hand on his chest. The metallic-like material of the bat symbol was cool against her sliced palm. “Thank you, Mr. Hood. Thank you very, very much.”

Red Hood shifted, moving his hand up and across his helmet as if to push his hair back, then gripped the nape of his neck. “Yeah, you’re welcome,” he grumbled. The distortion nearly garbled his voice completely, making him sound more embarrassed than he probably was.

Eden snickered at the idea – the dangerous, infamous Red Hood _embarrassed_ by little ol' her – then gagged and shoved her good hand on top of her stinging neck. She put up the other hand to stop Red Hood from grabbing her. The pain wasn’t as intense this time, nor did it dig quite as deeply into her throat and chest. She was starting to heal — not that it sounded like it, the way she was gasping.

“You still need help,” he said, serious again as she took long, deep breaths. He tilted his head upward, toward the rooftops. After a moment of silent contemplation, he huffed and wrapped a tight hand around Eden’s waist.

Her entire face went up in flames as he pulled her close. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but what came out instead was a very proper and dignified _“Gyuhh!?”_ sound.

“Hold on tight,” he said pulling out and aiming a— _a grappling hook!?_

_“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait!”_

Red Hood, with his finger on the trigger, jerked to a halt. He looked down at her, his head tilting to the side.

“I almost _died_ going to the store so I could make some bread,” she said pointing to her nearly forgotten grocery bags. “I sure as heck ain’t leaving my stuff behind now!”

He stared at her, his hold on her faltering. Eden felt her face heating up again. She wondered if he was beginning to regret coming to her aid.

Even so, she did not dip her head or back down. She’d paid for those ingredients fair and square, and if dying wasn’t on the menu tonight, there was absolutely _no_ reason for her to have to go back to the store and buy the same things a _second_ time.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he muttered.

“Incredibly so,” she said nodding firmly.

He stared at her another few seconds, then sighed. Letting her go, he went and quickly collected her things. Picking up the last bag, he glanced into it and looked back over at Eden.

“You seriously went to the store in the middle of the night to bake _bread?”_ he asked in disbelief.

“I just said I was serious."

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you were _serious_ serious.” He shuffled her bags around as he walked up to her again, looking through them. “This is literally just eggs, flour… yeast...”

“Yes. We’ve been over this, Mr. Hood. I just told you I was serious, like, two seconds ago.”

“There’s not even any _booze,_ ” he said mystified.

Eden blinked at him. “Mr. Hood, I’m starting to think you need more medical attention than I do.” She reached out to take the bags from him, but Red Hood just slid them up his arm, scoffing.

“I think _you_ need help in the head, Cookie Girl.”

“Keep it up, mister," she said with a glare, "and I’m gonna start calling you Red Bat.”

“You _know_ ,” he contemplated, pulling her close again and taking out his grappling hook, “I _could_ just bring you to a hospital. It’d be much faster and easier than me—”

 _“Actually!”_ She threw her arms around him, talking in a high, fast pitch. “I suddenly feel Cookie Girl growing on me, Mr. Red Hood, sir! It’s a real sweet nickname. You can 100% call me that anytime!”

Red Hood chuckled at her. The vibrations from his chest ran through to hers, reminding Eden just how tightly he was holding her. “Then hang on, Cookie Girl.”

She nodded, lowering her head and tightening her grip on him. This wasn’t her first time traveling through Gotham via grappling hook. She’d done it once before, years ago, on her first visit to the city. She could still remember the breathless thrill of soaring across the city's skyline; her remaining fears transformed to smiles and laughter. Her hero had laughed with her.

She would try not to do that now that she was an adult. Especially not with Red Hood. He would certainly tease her.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

He lifted the grappling hook and lowered himself slightly. Eden followed his lead. He pushed off the ground and they were brought high into the air.

Eden immediately grinned, weightless and free in the city's skies. It was as amazing as she remembered it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave some feedback if you can 🥺  
> I'm enjoying myself a lot writing this, but hearing from readers helps me become a better writer as well as know what y'all like/dislike, are looking forward to/dreading, etc. 💕


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, listen. Listen. Eden may have agreed to this, but are we absolutely, positively sure she needs stitches? Yes? Er… Okay. But are we, like, SURE sure or...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: swearing, blood, describing injuries, mending injuries (on a wuss)
> 
> Also!!! Apparently, you’re not supposed to use rubbing alcohol or hydrogen peroxide on cuts cuz their chemicals are too harsh and can damage muscle tissue. I grew up using peroxide on my cuts and didn’t know you weren’t supposed to until after I’d already written the majority of this chapter, so like… don’t do this irl. I’m just lazy and using alcohol works really well for the story so blah

Eden leaned her head back on the low wall behind her and stared up at the clouded sky. She huffed for what felt like the hundredth time. At this rate, she was going to be completely healed before Red Hood even got back...

She took another peek at her sliced palm. The cut was about a third smaller than it had been. Would Red Hood notice? Probably. It was hard to miss.

Should she— she shuddered. Should she try to reopen it a little with her nails?

She moved her hand away, gagging at the thought.

Nope. No way. Forget that. If it was noticeable to Red Hood, she would just play it off somehow. Distract him or something. Play dumb. Cry. Whatever it took but she was _not_ going to reopen it. It shouldn’t heal much more before he got back, anyway. He promised it would only take a few minutes for him to get what he needed and get back. And, despite _feeling_ like she’d been sitting on this rooftop for hours, Eden knew that wasn’t true. She was just getting antsy.

She put a hand to her neck, gently moving a finger across the gash there. It was fairly long, running from the dip between her shoulder and neck down to the crook of her collar bone. The knife nicked her jugular on the way down, too. That was how she’d become so lightheaded so quickly. Even now, her shirt was _still_ wet with all the blood she’d lost.

She was lucky her body healed the way it did. The process was by no means instant, and sometimes it was too little too late, but more often than not it was _just_ enough to save her from unnecessary encores.

Actually, still running her finger along the jagged cut, Eden was a bit surprised. Usually, an injury like this would be far more healed by now. Yet, somehow, the cut on her neck didn’t feel any smaller than the first time she’d touched it. True, it wasn't as deep as it had been – Eden could just… _tell_ it wasn't – but on the surface, it was mostly the same.

Was it her? Had she gained some control over this part of her power without realizing it? Maybe. Or maybe she'd just lost so much blood that replenishing it was more important than mending the rest of her body. Or maybe her body magically knew that healing too fast wasn’t a good idea this time. Or, maybe, it was just mending itself like this, like a snail trudging across a bone-dry desert, because she hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime.

Her stomach growled on cue, confirming her suspicions. Eden groaned. Now that she wasn’t drowning in her own thoughts or missing a remarkable amount of blood, she was fully aware of her body’s needs. And, _boy_ , did it need food.

“Would you—”

Eden shrieked in surprise as Red Hood announced his return by swiping her hand away from her neck.

“—stop messing with that?”

“What in the—!? Where in the heck did you come from!?”

“Hell, obviously.” He knelt down in front of her, taking a small black bag off his shoulder. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“Oh, of course,” she said rolling her eyes. “I _thought_ I recognized the accent.” She smacked her forehead theatrically. 

Red Hood let out a small, amused sound as he unzipped the bag. Inside was a swath of medical supplies. He dug around a moment then pulled out a white cloth and bottle of rubbing alcohol.

Eden eyed the bottle as he unscrewed the cap. “I hear the weather’s lovely in Hell this time of year,” she continued, hiding behind the joke. “Good time for a visit.”

“Nah," he said playing along. "It’s hot as balls right now."

She chuckled. “Ain't it—” Red Hood turned to her urgently and Eden quieted.

He said nothing. 

“Um…" She shrank down a little, unnerved by his wordless stare. "Everything okay there, Mr. Hood?”

He studied her another moment then eased back. “Yeah. Sorry. You started laughing so I thought you might…” he drifted off, looking at her neck. He shook his head and went back to prepping the cloth. “How do you feel?” 

She shrugged. “Fine. Better than I was.”

“No more gagging fits?” He glanced over at her and Eden shook her head. “Good.”

She eyed the drenched cloth in his hand, thinking back to all the times she'd put alcohol on someone else’s cuts and scrapes. She’d never had to use it herself, not even when she was a kid, so she didn’t know what it felt like. All she knew was that other people often hissed or groaned when they used it. Even Nate, arguably the toughest of her semi-siblings, would wince if alcohol went on an open wound.

“Is that going on my neck?”

“Yep.” Red Hood brought it closer.

Eden leaned away. “Is it going to hurt?”

“I mean.” He gave a half-shrug, half-nod like it was obvious _. “Yeah?”_

“Okay, but like…” She slunk down against the wall, growing quieter. “How bad is it gonna hurt? Like… bad or… really bad?”

Red Hood tilted his head in thought. “How’s your pain tolerance?”

"My...? Oh. Well, it's... um..."

No matter how she got hurt, Eden was always fine in the end. But in the moment? When it was actually happening to her? Or, if it was a trade, when it _felt_ like it was happening to her?

“Not great,” she decided. But, then again, who _didn’t_ experience excruciating pain while dying? “It’s hard to say. It might be normal but… I’m not really sure. I certainly don't _like_ pain, if that helps.”

“Alright, better question: have you ever used alcohol to clean a cut before?"

“No,” she murmured sinking into her shoulders. “Never.”

Red Hood turned his head upward and let out a deep noise, something between a hum and a sigh. He glanced toward the little black medical bag, then down at himself, then around them. Searching for something, perhaps.

“Look—” Eden straightened herself up, drawing his attention. “Look, why don’t you… Why don’t you just do it, okay? You being all,” she made a gesture, “ _this_ is freaking me out more. Just throw it on there and if it hurts, then—”

 _“When_ it hurts. I’m not just slapping it down," he told her. "I have to actually _clean_ the cut.”

“Oh, okay!” she said in a much higher pitch. “Great! Wonderful! Then _when_ it hurts, I’ll just— I’ll— I’ll kick you or something! And it’ll be fine!”

Red Hood cocked his head. “After all I’ve done for you, you’re going to repay me by kicking me?”

Eden blinked at him. “What? Oh! _No, no!_ I didn’t mean— I wasn’t _really_ going to kick you! Of course not! I wouldn’t actually— Okay, I mean, maybe in like a knee-jerk kind of way, but not on purpose or anything! And even if I did do it on purpose, I’d probably hurt myself more than I’d hurt you, Mr. Hood – I think we both know that – ‘cause it would just, you know, be like a, uh, little baby kicking you or something. More sad than anything, really. Just downright pathetic. And, honestly, you'd probably feel bad for me and have to pretend it hurt 'cause I'd just be holding my foot and crying, and—” 

Red Hood snickered loudly, cutting off her senseless jabbering. He turned his head and covered the place where his mouth would be but his shoulders kept shaking.

Eden’s whole face went up in flames. He'd been joking. And now he was laughing at her. _Again._

“Oh, for goodness sake,” she grumbled turning away from him. She pushed her hair out of the way and offered up her neck. “Will you please just get this over with before I make a bigger fool of myself?”

“Hold on.” Still fighting back laughter, he reached for the bottle again. “I need to add some more.”

_“More!?”_

_"Yeeaah,"_ he said shaking his head oh-so-solemnly. "It dried out while you were talking." 

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure." She turned and pinned her eyes on the skyscrapers in the distance. "Go on and tease the panicking person, Mr. Hood. Very kind of you. Very classy.”

"What can I say? I'm such a kind, classy guy."

A laugh nearly tumbled out of her but Eden quickly fought it down, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. The sound of fresh alcohol spilling onto the cement wiped her suppressed smile clean away.

“Oh god.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

“You’re gonna be _fine_ , Cookie Girl.”

“I am _not_ gonna be fine!” she threw back. “This is awful! This is horrendous! This is— This is _torturous!”_

He scoffed, close to her neck now. “Don’t be such a baby. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“I know! That’s what’s so awful!”

“Do you want to hold my hand or something?” 

Eden knew he was mocking her. She did. She just didn’t care. Her good hand clutched at the fabric of his leather jacket. The other wrapped around the exposed skin between his glove and tight, armor-like sleeve. Her mending palm warmed quickly against his skin.

He cleared his throat. “I was joking.”

“Well, that's too damn bad, Mr. Hood! Don’t go making offers you don’t wanna bank on! Now, would you _puh-LEASE_ just get this over with!? I’m seriously starting to freak out here, and I really don’t appreciate the whole ‘Let’s draw this out as long as possible ‘cause it’s funny’ shtick, ‘cause it’s _not_ funny, and I for one really don't appreciate—”

“Okay, okay! I’m doing it, I’m doing it. _Sheesh_.” He moved forward and ran the cloth over her torn skin in one quick motion. Eden shrieked and clutched his arm.

The burn was intense. Sudden. Unlike anything she’d felt before. Her eyes misted as she forced herself to breathe through clenched teeth.

Every so often, Red Hood gave her small words of assurance – that she was doing fine, that he was almost done – but Eden could only focus on the pain. Liquid fire bubbled and seared its way deep into the wound. She dragged the soles of her shoes against the cement, desperate for relief. Eventually, she tore her good hand away from Red Hood’s jacket and pounded her fist against the floor. She grabbed his sleeve again and held it tightly, trying not to cry.

When he finally finished, Red Hood carefully removed her good hand from his sleeve and put it on top of the cloth. “Keep this here, alright?”

“I don’t like this,” she sniffed, her voice wavering. “Why do we have to do this. I hate this. This is stupid.”

“You’re doing fine, Cookie Girl,” he said softly.

She half-huffed, half-whined in disagreement.

Red Hood turned back to his little black bag and dug around with his free hand. He made no indication of needing his other hand, so Eden didn’t let go. Every time the frothing, stinging burn flared up again she dragged her heel across the floor and gave his arm another tight squeeze. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it.

“So.” He pulled a small pouch from the bag. “What kind of trouble are you in, anyway?”

The furrow in her brow deepened. “What do you mean? I’m not in any trouble…”

“Right.” From the pouch, Red Hood took out a curved needle, some thick tweezers, and what looked like a spool of blue fishing line. “Because only someone _not_ in any trouble would beg someone like me to patch them up instead of going to a hospital.”

“Hey now!" She let go of him and pointed to herself. _"_ _I_ didn't beg for nothin'. _I_ just refused to go to the hospital. _You're,"_ she jabbed her finger at him, “the one who’s insisting on doing this nonsense.”

He scoffed and swiped her hand away as he threaded the needle. “Would you rather I _didn’t_ do this nonsense?”

“It feels like the devil himself is pissing on my shoulder right now, so... _y_ _eah_ , to be completely honest, I’m kinda wishing you didn't.”

Red Hood stopped. Stiffly, he turned his head toward her. Eden shrunk back from the sudden, severe emotion coming from him. The heat of his hidden gaze, amplified by the glaring eyes of his helmet, was hard to meet.

“I’m sorry,” he said harshly, “did you _want_ an infection in your fucking neck?” 

“No,” she said quietly.

“Then what about having a huge scar for the rest of your life?”

Knots formed in her stomach. “I’m not worried about scars,” she mumbled stubbornly.

“No? Then how about that cut reopening?” he shot back. “How about bleeding out a _second_ fucking time when there's no one around? How about fucking _dying?_ Are you worried about _that?”_ he hissed. His distorted voice was sharper and more searing than Eden had ever heard it.

She sank further down the wall. It wasn't hard to understand why Red Hood was so worked up. She glanced down at the slick, sticky river of blood that had flooded her shirt and pooled down her torso. She'd lost so much so quickly... If she were a normal human being and the cut _did_ reopen, there wouldn't be enough blood left in her body to survive it. She would bleed out and die just like Red Hood said.

But Eden _wasn't_ normal. The cut wouldn't reopen. And even if it somehow _did_ , it wouldn't kill her. Her body had already made up for most of the blood she'd lost — she could feel it. And even if it hadn't, even if the damn thing _did_ kill her, it's not like she would stay dead anyway. The universe would demand another encore from her, just like it always did, and her heart would start again. Just like it always did.

Eden eyed the needle in Red Hood's hand apprehensively. He was going to put that into her _skin_. Into her _cut._ He was going to sew her up like an old ragdoll and she didn't even need it!

What would it feel like? Would it be small but sharp like getting pricked by a sewing needle? Strange and agonizing, as if she were being carved up by a tiny knife? Quick and exasperating, like getting her ears pierced _again_ before they finally understood why the holes kept closing up? Or, would it feel like something she’d never experienced before — like the molten, frothy sting of alcohol on an open wound?

And, even worse, the stitches would eventually have to come _out_. Her body would be perfectly healed within a day or two – at _most_ – and would leave no scar. There'd be nothing to suggest she’d ever even needed stitches in the first place. Even if she _could_ find a way into a hospital without alarming her mother, how would she be able to explain that? She wouldn't. She'd have to remove them herself.

She could just... _tell_ Red Hood her secret, of course. Avoid the whole kerfuffle that way but... But that was stupid. Yeah, he was trying to help her now, and, _yeah_ , he’d save her before, but being a metahuman wasn’t something you just… _told_ people about. Not even heroes. Eden wasn’t _that_ stupid.

In fact, the only people she’d ever told were the “cousins” she considered siblings. And even then, unless they actively _needed_ her powers, she only told them after years of knowing and trusting them. It was her greatest secret, and, as far as she was concerned, only family needed to know it.

Well. Family and whoever the hell Frank told, apparently.

Eden was still upset about that. People – people she didn’t know; people her _mother_ didn’t know; total _strangers_ – knew about her powers now. Frank had told the people he worked with about her without her knowledge or consent. He swore they were trustworthy, that they were merely interested in the science and what it could do, but that didn’t mean much to Eden. After all, _he_ wasn’t even family. Not anymore.

She'd thought he wanted to be. Despite all the years of silence, of absence, she’d _hoped_ he wanted to be when he suddenly reached out and asked to see her again. But when they finally did meet up, after all the backflips and hoop-jumping they’d gone through to keep Mama from catching wind, he’d treated her more like a business venture than a daughter.

That stung more than alcohol _ever_ could.

_“Well?”_

Eden glanced up at Red Hood. Waiting, with needle in hand. Likely angry, or at the very least upset, with what he must’ve thought was a very stupid, very weak, very ungrateful little girl. He certainly wouldn't be the first.

She looked away again and let out a slow breath. Carefully, she removed the cloth from her neck, hissing softly as she did. She wordlessly offered up the wound a second time. He shifted closer, putting a hand near the cut. Eden flinched and he stopped again.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, softly, sure he was getting more irritated by the minute. “I’m sorry, I just…” She shook her head, fighting the shameful urge to cry. “I’m just," she choked. "I'm just no good at this stuff."

Red Hood said nothing. Eden wondered if silence was how he showed his disappointment.

After a moment, his free hand moved from her neck. He held it in front of her, his palm up. She stared at it, unsure of what it meant.

“It doesn’t hurt too bad,” he said gently. Eden's eyes lifted in surprise. “It does when the needle goes in," he continued, still soft, "but it’s more weird than painful, I swear. If you need to, you can still…" Red Hood looked to the side and started mumbling. "Y'know.” He bobbed his hand. “Hold my hand or whatever...”

A rebel tear ran down her cheek. Eden sniffed and quickly brushed it away. 

This... _This_ was Gotham’s most-contested vigilante? The mob boss. The murderer. The one everyone and their mother had an opinion on. The one they said could never, _should_ never, be considered a hero. This guy. The one who insisted on helping a stubborn, panicky, annoying civilian all night. The one who got downright _pissed_ when she tried to brush off life-saving care. The one who did not rebuke her for being so pathetic, so _weak_ , but instead shyly offered her comfort.

She couldn't wrap her head around it. People called Red Hood bad, immoral, unforgivable, but _how?_ How could _anyone_ think of him like that? Even if he'd done awful things... Even if he still _did_ awful things... Red Hood clearly wasn't an awful person. He was thoughtful. He was kind. He was _good._

Had any of the people who said those nasty things actually met him? Did they know how tender he could be? How sweet? Maybe they hadn’t and his rough reputation simply preceded him. Or maybe Eden was a fool who couldn't see the true cruelty hidden beneath a masterful facade. Or... maybe she was one of the lucky ones who got to see past the facade, who got to see the heart hidden underneath.

Eden gingerly took his hand, so, _so_ grateful. “Thank you, Mr. Hood,” she whispered, hoping the words would be enough to convey at least a small fraction of what she was feeling.

He grumbled something back — his voice garbled more than usual. 

Eden smiled and giggled softly, feeling outstandingly lucky.

“You ready now?” he muttered.

She nodded. "Ready."

He moved forward again, slowly this time — giving her enough time to stop him if she needed it. She squeezed his hand in anticipation. He took it as a go-ahead.

There was a sharp prick at the base of her collarbone followed by a strange sliding sensation. Like he’d said, there was a sharp, shooting pain each time the needle went in or out of her skin, but it wasn’t too bad. The real issue was the silk-like thread. The slick feeling of it running in and through her skin, tugging pieces of herself together… It was off-putting. Nauseating, even.

Eden tried not to squirm too much. When the needle pierced too thin a piece of skin, she squeaked and scraped her shoe against the ground as Red Hood muttered an apology. When the tugging made her nearly gag, she zeroed in on the scruff marks along his jacket, breathing slowly as she counted them up.

When none of that helped, she would squeeze his hand, silently begging for strength. He squeezed back, readily giving it whenever she asked.

“There,” he said pulling the needle through one last time. He tugged the thread firmly. “Can I have my hand for a second?”

Eden let go and watched as he tied off the string and cut off the excess.

“So…" she tried. "How do I get them out?”

“They’ll dissolve or fall out in a few weeks’ time. No hospitals necessary.”

She nodded slowly then let out a breath of relief. "Thank you," she mumbled.

Red Hood studied her a moment. He lowered his head slightly and stayed that way, something clearly on his mind.

Then, as if forcing himself, he reached for her cut hand. Eden jerked it close to her chest.

“Are you gonna put stitches in my hand, too? That would hurt worse, wouldn’t it? Since it’s my palm?” She snuck a glance at the cut as she spoke.

The first time she’d looked at it, it ran clear across her palm from end to end. There’d been thin cuts across some of her fingers too. She honestly couldn't remember when it had happened in the fight or how, but she must’ve grabbed for the knife at some point and been holding it by the blade when it was roughly pulled from her grasp.

Now, the cut was much smaller. Only about an inch and a half over the center of her palm. She couldn’t even _tell_ where the smaller slices on her fingers had been. She imagined the skin there still looked a little irritated, but – because it was dark and her hand was still coated with blood – she couldn’t see it.

“I might not have to,” Red Hood said holding his hand out for hers. “The neck was definitely worse, but let me take another look at it.”

Nervously, Eden took one more glance at her palm then handed it over.

Red Hood inspected it a moment then tilted his head. "Huh."

She panicked. _“What!?”_ she shrieked, startling him enough to look away from the cut. “Is it bad? Do I need stitches? Please don’t say I need any more stitches, Mr. Hood, I really don’t think I can handle going through that with my _hand_. Please say I don’t. Pretty please?”

He glanced down at it again. “You don't.” Very gently, he ran a thumb over the cut. “It’s a lot smaller than I remember…”

“Oh, thank goodness!" she said in a fast voice. She started tugging her hand away. "So we’re all good then, right? No more patching up? You can just take me home now?” 

Red Hood let out an amused hum and started packing up his supplies. “You trying to get rid of me?” 

“No, not at all! But," she brought up a finger, "if you bring that alcohol crap anywhere near me again, I really am going to kick you.”

He scoffed and batted her hand away. Then he paused and dipped his head. “ _Actually,_ " he teased, reaching for the bottle. "Now that you _mention_ it—”

“No. No, no."

“We really _should_ clean it."

“Nope. No. Don’t you dare _._ ”

“Aw, c'mon, Cookie Girl,” he said waving the bottle. “Just to be safe?" 

“Mr. Hood, I _will_ kick you and I _will_ do it hard.”

He laughed, stood up, and offered his hand. "You gonna cry when you do?"

 _"No!_...Maybe." She took his hand. "Shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a bit longer to crank out cuz I'm back to working in person 😬  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it 🥰 Any feedback is loved and appreciated!💕💕


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Best way to make new friends in the most dangerous city in the world? Simple! Offer them baked goods as a thanks after they patch you up from almost dying in a knife fight!! So easy!!! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda shor-ish this time, BUT!! I'm almost halfway done with the next one so another update should be on its way soon-ish enough as long as I don't get bogged down in the editing stage (as I usually do lol 😅)
> 
> warning: minor blood, minor swearing

“There you go,” Red Hood said opening the window to Eden’s fire escape from inside the apartment. She’d cautiously – and, in this instance, annoyingly – locked it earlier. “Back at Casa de Eden, safe and—”

“Don’t do that again!” she whisper-shrilled in his face.

Red Hood jerked back, surprised. _The nerve!_ He knew _full_ well he’d given Eden a heart attack vaulting off the fire escape like that. And he _barely_ held on to the building while he checked her other window!

“You scared the livin' crap out of me! We’re on the ninth _floor,_ for Pete’s sake!"

He scoffed. “Guess it’s a good thing you left the other window unlocked then, huh? Can you imagine? One little slip then, _splat!_ No more Red Hood." He sniffed obnoxiously and wiped an imaginary tear from the eye of his helmet. "So sad."

“Oh _please_.” Eden rolled her eyes as she passed her groceries to him. “Like you wouldn’t have pulled out your grappling hook or something and saved yourself.”

“Oh?” He offered her his free hand, dropping the act. “So you mean I had everything under control? And you had nothing to freak out about? Imagine that.”

“Listen you,” Eden said taking his hand, allowing him to help her through the window. “You know well and good by now that I am a panicky person. The very least you could do is give me a heads up before you do something scary crazy like that!”

“Alright, fine. Don’t freak out, but I’m about to walk over to your table. _S_ _o scary!”_

She rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, I’m absolutely petrified, Mr. Hood.”

He let out a small amused sound.

Cautiously holding her, he led her toward her kitchen table. Eden felt a little ridiculous, but he probably thought she’d keel over if he let her walk on her own. That's what would probably happen to a normal person who’d lost as much blood as her. So, despite being perfectly fine, she played along — totally _not_ enjoying how close he was to her. Nope. Not even the littlest bit. 

But as he led her across the room, Eden couldn’t help but see her place with a fresh set of eyes. The kind a person only ever saw through when an unexpected visitor walked through their door — or, in this case, window.

Her apartment was so tiny and barren there honestly wasn’t much to see to begin with. But that didn’t stop Eden from noticing every flaw that _was_ there. Every crumb and speck of dust. Every scuff and scratch that marked the fake wooden floor. The huge pile of “clean” clothes sitting on a chair next to her – thankfully closed – closet door. The walls void of anything but cracks, holes, and an old pair of coat hooks by the front door. 

Being in such a small space, and hoping to be able to afford something a little nicer in the not-too-distant future, Eden had decided early on not to fill it with any big or unnecessary furniture. It wasn’t like she needed much to begin with, and she didn’t want to deal with nine flights of stairs when she moved, so it had made sense.

Plus, it wasn’t like she planned on ever having guests. Even if she _had_ people to invite over, inviting anybody to her neck of the woods would just be asking for trouble. Her neighborhood was far too… unneighborly. She’d feel tremendously guilty if anything bad happened to someone who shouldn’t be there to begin with.

But now that she _had_ a guest, Eden severely regretted not trying to turn the rundown studio into something a little homier.

Her “living area” was a piss poor sight with only a lazily made-up mattress and a scratched-up coffee table to fill it. The mattress, which sat on the floor, acted as both Eden’s bed and couch; its sheets half sprawled, half bunched up in a way that Mama never would’ve allowed. The square coffee table – small enough for her to have carried onto the subway with only a little trouble – was absolutely covered in scattered piles of books, notebooks, and pens. Her laptop and headphones – the only things she’d splurged on with Frank’s money – sat on her bed, glaringly shiny and new compared to everything around them.

At least the tight galley kitchen was clean and tidy. She still swept and wiped everything down each night, just like she would back home. Even if the linoleum was unsalvageable in places and the counters worn down, it looked better to Eden than the living space. The colorful dishrags, oven mitts, and canisters of utensils gave it more character than any other space in the apartment. Made it more… presentable.

“By the way, _please_ tell me that’s not your cellphone,” Red Hood groaned.

Eden glanced down at her phone, still on the kitchen table where she’d left it, right next to the tiny notebook of phone numbers. Then she looked up at him, confused.

“Of course it is… Whose else would it be?”

He made a gruff sound, stopping in front of the chair Eden had fled from... gosh, was it only an hour ago? She sat down as he set her bags in front of her with a loud thud. 

“Seriously? You went out this late and you didn’t even bring your _phone?_ Do you still think you’re in Kansas, Dorothy?”

Eden frowned. “I know exactly where I am, _Glinda_.”

“I am _not_ Glinda,” he argued.

“Then are you Elphaba? Or the Great and Powerful Oz himself?” She twirled her hand and dipped her head, giving him a quick, theatrical bow. “Your Oziness.”

He snorted. “I’m just saying it was stupid.”

“I know it was stupid, I just…”

Her eyes flickered down to the little notebook with all her friends and family’s numbers inside. Guilt pulled at her heartstrings. Then she looked to her phone.

Like her laptop and headphones, it was new and bought with Frank’s money. The same money she used to get here. The money he'd given her for trusting him with her “donation”. For agreeing to that stupid meeting in the first place. For thinking he was still her father after all these years.

What a joke.

“It doesn’t matter,” she huffed, snatching them up as she stood. “I’m just an idiot.”

She moved to the smallest of her kitchen drawers, her designated “junk drawer”. So far it only contained a few pens, a pad of post-it notes, a screwdriver, some scissors, and a hair tie. She tossed the phone and notebook in too and shut it roughly.

“Anyway.” She turned back to Red Hood. “What would you like for your thank you?”

Red Hood, who’d been watching at her intently, lifted his head slightly. “Huh?”

“What would you like?” she asked again, thinking it obvious. “I know you liked the cookies I made last week. I think it was snickerdoodles, right? Did you want some more of those or something else?”

“Or… Wait, what?”

“Or something else,” she repeated. “I know you’re keen on calling me that dumb cookie name, but I bake more than cookies, you know. Brownies, fudge, pie, cake — you name it! It doesn’t even have to be sweet either. The only thing I can’t do is make something with filling. I mean, I _could_ but I haven’t bought a piping bag so I’d have to make do with a makeshift one; which, again, I _could_ do, but it’d be a lot messier and I'm actually not that great at filling pastries either way, so I’d really rather _not_ , but—”

“Wait, wait,” he said raising a hand and moving forward. “What are you talking about? Piping bags? Filling?”

“Uh, a thank you?” she said, again, like it was obvious. “You helped me a lot tonight and I want to make it up to you."

“You’ve already thanked me a few times,” he said turning his head a moment. “You really don’t have to—”

 _“Ohhhh_ no you don’t, Mr. Hood!” she said stepping forward and wagging her finger at him. “Don't you pretend you didn't go out of your way for me tonight. I know you did, and I _know_ y’all aren’t that big on manners here, but it’s only right I go a little out of my way too to repay you for it.”

"But I can’t stay with you _all_ night, Cookie Girl,” he teased, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter opposite her. “There might be some other dumbass buying eggs and flour in the middle of the night who gets in a knife fight. Can't leave _them_ to bleed out on the streets, now can I?"

"I suppose not," she agreed. "Though I have to admit I'm a little disappointed." She pouted and fluttered her eyelashes. "You really don't think I'm a one-of-a-kind kind of dumbass, Mr. Hood?"

Red Hood barked out a laugh, making Eden grin.

“Oh hey, how about this!" she said eagerly. "I can make a batch of fudge and keep it until you have time in your very busy rescuing-total-idiots schedule to stop by again. Would that work?”

He rubbed the jaw of his helmet as he considered it, then turned to her again. “How good’s your fudge?”

She choked on a laugh at how serious he sounded then cleared her throat. “Pretty good, I’d say. Never heard any complaints and I’ve been making it about as long as I’ve been making cookies.”

He hummed comically loud, the distortion making it unharmonious. “Tempting. Very tempting."

 _“Annnnnd,”_ she said leaning forward, “it’d be another one of my Mama’s recipes. It doesn't get much better than that, Mr. Hood, I promise you.”

He hummed again. “I guess _one_ batch of fudge couldn’t hurt.”

“Perfect!” Eden beamed, clapping her hands together. “Any allergies I should know about? Nuts? Dairy? Special calorie diet? Please say no to that one; I _hate_ dealing with low-fat nonsense. I'll do it, of course, for you, but I won't like it.”

“Nah,” he said, sounding amused. “I'm good with whatever. Go crazy, Cookie Girl.”

“Alrighty then. Oh!” She steepled her fingertips and drummed them together, grinning. “Oh, I know _exactly_ what I'll make you... hehehe...”

“Uh, should I be scared?” 

“Not at all, Mr. Hood!" she said far too sweetly. "You said go crazy, so crazy I'll go.”

He shook his head at her, then tilted it slightly. “You might wanna take a shower before you go _too_ crazy."

"Hm?"

He nodded to her shirt and Eden glanced down.

“Oh. Right.” She still looked like a crime scene. She looked up at him again, sheepishly. "Sorry."

He shrugged, unbothered. "Don't be sorry. I’m just not huge a fan of blood in my fudge.”

"That's fair," Eden giggled, grateful for the ease that came with talking to him. She looked at her shirt again, grimaced, and pulled at the bloodied fabric. “I should probably go do that now actually...”

“I'll get out of your hair then," Red Hood said pushing himself away from the counter. "Try not to get your stitches wet if you can help it.” Then he stopped and turned as if remembering something. Eden waited until he finally decided to speak. “You seem to be able to hold yourself up now.”

Suddenly, remembering the role she was meant to be playing, her body self-corrected and started to droop to one side. Eden _corrected_ that self-correction by dramatically shifting her weight to the other side then back again — like she was testing her balance in a very, _very_ bizarre way.

“Yeah," she said standing upright again. "I’m not as dizzy as I was before.” Which was not untrue. She’d been _extremely_ dizzy when he'd first found her and wasn’t at all now, so, technically, not a lie. “But I’ll sit down if it gets bad again. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?”

Red Hood nodded slowly, not saying anything. He slung the black medical bag off his shoulder and put it on the table next to her groceries.

“I’ll leave this in case you need it," he muttered.

Eden nodded, knowing she wouldn’t, then walked him to the window. “Thanks, Mr. Hood. I’ll try to replace whatever I use." She smiled. "I don’t suppose you could give me a rough ballpark on when you might come back?” 

“What,” he teased climbing back onto her fire escape, “miss me already?”

“No,” she said too quickly. “Of course not. Don’t be dumb. I’m asking for the, uh, timeline. For… fudge. Purposes. Obviously.”

 _“Obviously,”_ he repeated, still kneeling in front of her window.

Eden’s cheeks grew warmer and she looked away. “Anyway," she mumbled. "I’m home by 7 most nights. But Sunday or Monday night would work best for me.”

“Alright, I’ll try to shoot for one of those.” Red Hood glanced over his shoulder and down the street. “I really should go now, Cookie Girl.” He stood from the window and pulled out his grappling hook. “Try not to do anything too stupid while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, I’ll do my best,” she scoffed. “Try not to do anything too _crazy_ before you come back." 

He snorted. “I’ll do my best.”

Eden smiled, becoming more sincere. "I'll see you later then, Mr. Hood."

"Yeah. See you later, Cookie Girl." 

He jumped off the fire escape and Eden leaned out her window to watch him soar across the street. He passed several buildings before landing on a rooftop and paused.

He looked back at her and Eden jerked in surprise, nearly smacking her head against the glass. She sent him a small, shy wave, embarrassed at having been caught watching him go. Red Hood returned it with a raise of his hand. It looked like he might be shaking his head, too.

Eden quickly ducked back inside and shut and locked her window. She spun around and leaned against it, trying to calm her beating heart and fiery face. She was already being stupid, it seemed.

She really had no reason to be so embarrassed, though! People watch other people leave their houses all the time! Eden had stood out on the front porch plenty of times back home to watch folks go — sometimes with a smile and a wave, sometimes with a scowl and a rifle in her arms. So how was watching Red Hood go any different? She shook her head and sighed.

The sigh acted as a signal and a sudden wave of exhaustion nearly brought her to the floor. With nobody else around, her body freely began to set off all kinds of alarms. It had saved her from another encore, yes, and now it demanded its due. She was tired, starved, and just flat out weak from its efforts to keep her alive. 

“Okay,” she mumbled, forcing herself to stand up straight. “Food, then shower, then sleep. Then everything ’ll be better,” she promised.

She stagged back to the table to take care of her groceries. Aside from a few cracked eggs, everything was still intact. Considering the adventurous night she’d had, Eden counted that as a victory.

She _could_ have turned on the stove and heated up some leftovers. She wasn’t so hungry that she was just grabbing anything and shoving it into her mouth. But sleep's siren call was loud and clear, and Eden was eager for bed, so she ate her food cold standing over the sink. The casserole dish was empty before her stomach was full, but it would suffice until morning. 

When she turned on the bathroom light and saw her reflection, she froze. Is _this_ what she'd looked like all night? No wonder Red Hood had been so concerned! She looked like she’d caught the red death and was bleeding from every pore! Her shirt was completely soaked through, which she’d already known, but some of the blood had also seeped into her coat and even her pants.

She took a step closer to the mirror. “Holy heck…” Red Hood agreeing to see her again was _nothing_ short of a miracle.

The blood had completely stained the skin around her neck and chest. Only the space around her stitches was clean. The top of her hair was wild and windswept while the bottom half was damp and matted with blood. Her cheeks grew warm as some silly part of her lamented over Red Hood seeing her so gross and uncouth. She tried to fix her hair – as if doing so _now_ would somehow change how she’d looked _before_ – but gave up shortly. 

She turned on the shower and peeled the wet, sticky clothing from her body. Stepping into the hot water, the leftover strain in her muscles eased further, making it harder to keep herself upright. Using her nails, she picked at the adhesive part of the band-aid Red Hood had, half-jokingly, stuck to her palm before bringing her home. The cut, little more than a paper cut now, stung as soap suds and shampoo found their way into the tiny cracks of her skin.

At first, she tried to keep her stitches dry like Red Hood had told her, but ended up giving up quickly. She was too tired for all that. And whatever consequences there were for a _normal_ person wetting their stitches, it likely wouldn’t affect Eden much. Besides, the constant stream of warm water on her neck felt _amazing_. (At least until washed-out conditioner seeped into the stitches. Then Eden regretted _everything_.)

When she got out, she rubbed the mirror clean of fog to inspect her neck. It was just like she thought.

Though red with irritation, the cut no longer reached down to her collarbone and the once deep gash in the crook of her neck was now but a shallow slice. By the time she woke up tomorrow, she doubted there would be anything left of the wound at all. The stitches had been, as she'd predicted, completely unnecessary. And now she was stuck with them. And would soon have no slice, no cut, nor wound to justify their existence. Great.

Turning out the light, she took a long breath. Hopefully, her body would make short work of the stitches and they would dissolve quickly. But until then, she would just have to keep her neck covered.

When she _finally_ crawled into bed, Eden snuggled into her covers and replayed the night in her mind. For as much agony as his stitches had – and _would_ – put her through, Red Hood had transformed her awful, lonely night into something warm and wonderful. And now, she even had something to look forward to. As she drifted off to sleep, Eden found herself smiling. Maybe, somewhere in this big, dangerous city, Red Hood was smiling, too. She giggled softly at the thought, hoping that maybe – _just maybe_ – he was eager to see her again, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Kinda short. But I hope it was still a nice read!  
> As always, even the tiniest feedback is loved and appreciated 🥰💕


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very Drinks Café. That’s the name of the café. I’m literally not even joking. Anyway, would you like a slice of unresolved childhood trauma with that stalker mix-up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: minor swearing, extremely minor mention of su*cide (like, you might even miss it), panic attack
> 
> Note: Ede is pronounced “EE-d”, like “need” or “greed”, and Edie is pronounced “EE-Dee”, like “needy” or “greedy.”

Being a professional actor was a more tiring and time-consuming line of work than Eden had originally thought. She was so accustomed to her old community theater’s three hours of practice three times a week that she’d expected something similar when she arrived in Gotham. Landing her first “real” gig was a wake-up call. _Six_ 8-hour days in a row taught her just how much time and energy professionals put into their craft.

In Gotham’s theater world, Monday was considered the weekend. There were no performances for audiences to view and no practices for cast members to attend, so Sundays were often filled with tired actors excited to go for drinks or eager to sleep in.

This particular Sunday, Eden was brimming with energy. So much so she actually volunteered to take someone’s place on the daily mid-afternoon caffeine run. The director, Daphne, gave Eden a half-amused smile as she put in the usual order on her phone then sent the small group on their way.

 _“Somebody’s_ chipper today,” Aaron grumbled, still sour about not being able to convince anyone to take _his_ turn.

Eden ignored his mood. “Yep! A sort-of friend of mine might be coming over tonight and I’m excited to see him.”

Veronica glanced over her huge sunglasses with an approving smirk. _“Oooo, yeah?”_

Even when it wasn’t her turn on the caffeine run, Veronica, one of the show’s leads, almost always joined the group. She had a very particular drink from a very particular café in the area she adored, and she would always lead the group there before grabbing everyone else’s drinks at Stardunks. She always bought the other runners something for their trouble too, which was probably the politest thing Eden had seen in Gotham to date.

“Good for you, Edie,” Veronica went on. “I didn’t take you for the friends-with-benefits type.”

“Friends with—?” Her brain froze. It lumbered over itself, trying to comprehend the idea of Red Hood – big, strong, muscles-for-days _Red Hood_ –, the infamous vigilante, being friends with benefits… with _her._

Her face exploded with color.

 _“Ohnononono!_ I mean, I meant like, meaning we aren’t exactly friends yet, is what I meant! Like we’re almost friends but not exactly, like— I mean— You know— Not— Not that there’s anything _wrong_ with being friends with benefits, of course! Of course not! Who doesn’t like a good benefit— friend— _thing?_ ”

Aaron let out a low, dry _“Woooow”_ and Veronica made an unimpressed face, not caring _at_ _all_ for Eden’s fumbling. Knowing this, Eden’s face grew hotter and her words came out higher and faster.

“It’s just that I, you know, I personally— I mean, the guy’s sweet-as-pie and funny-as-heck but I don’t really know him that well and, you know, it just seems like a bit of a personal thing to jump into, and I’m really not all that—”

“Oh my god, it’s _fine_ , Eden!” Veronica finally shouted with a roll of her eyes. “You’re not in Alabama or Indiana or whatever backwater state you’re from—”

Eden nearly lost her footing, her body stumbling as her brain stumbled over the insult. Veronica, now tuned into her phone, didn’t notice.

“—I was just trying to be supportive. No need to be a spaz about it.”

Eden gaped at Veronica, still not quite believing her ears. But disbelief didn’t stop her blood from boiling.

“ _Excuse—”_

“Anyway!” Aaron said quickly, grabbing Veronica’s attention. “Have you seen pictures of the dress they’re putting you in for the ball scenes yet?”

“Have _you?_ Ugh, it looks atrocious _._ Can you believe they want me to wear _that_ shade of yellow? Like, seriously? I’m supposed to be the most beautiful sister, not the one who looks like she’s covered in _mustard!”_

Eden glared at Aaron from behind Veronica’s ranting head. He caught it and threw back a warning look, shaking his head minutely. Fuming, Eden sharpened her gaze and turned away, ignoring the both of them as best she could.

Veronica was a bit spoiled. The way she spoke about the vacations across Europe and the galas she and her father attended up and down the Northeastern coastline made it impossible to miss. Even so, Eden usually thought she was nice enough.

She was incredibly friendly for a Gothamite – especially a wealthy one – but she often tossed out carelessly ignorant comments that left Eden balking. It didn’t help that no one in the cast ever really corrected her, either. Even the director, though firm, was careful when critiquing Veronica.

Eden didn’t understand why they did it, but she didn’t care for it at all. It left a burning itch under her skin in desperate need of a scratch. But every time she went to, someone else interrupted her or stole Veronica’s attention away and gave her a warning look. It was infuriating.

As they approached the fancy café, _Café_ _Très Boissons_ written in thin white print across the window, someone’s phone started to buzz.

“I have to take this,” Veronica announced, shoving her purse into Eden’s hands.

Eden, not paying attention, nearly dropped it. “Whoa! Wha—”

“Go in and ask for my usual drink and whatever you two want. Use the pink card, yeah?”

“Huh?”

She put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Daddy, how was your flight?” She made a shooing motion at Eden then turned to focus on her phone call. Eden gaped at her, but she didn’t notice.

Aaron, who didn’t seem offended at all, nudged Eden and headed toward the door. She looked between him, the purse, and the infuriatingly oblivious young woman who’d handed it to her. Eden shook her head and followed him in.

She’d been to Café Très Boissons once before, about a week ago with Veronica and another cast member when it had officially been her turn on the caffeine run. Letting the door close behind her, she found the place just as unpleasant as the last time.

Everything was too… _crisp_. Too light and bright and minimalist. It was like stepping out of real-life and into a far-too-expensive décor magazine. The air was stiff, too. Suffocating, even. How anybody was supposed to relax in a place like this, Eden didn’t know.

The other patrons weren’t very welcoming either. They all dressed in smart, sleek clothing and held themselves like incredibly important people, all too busy with incredibly important things to pay anyone else any mind. Those who did happen to notice Eden and Aaron – who looked distinctly _“artsy”_ amongst the ironed slacks and sleek skirts – quickly dismissed them.

The only ones who didn’t match the rest of the crowd – in both attire and actions – was a group of young men tucked into one of the corner booths. Eden could immediately guess which of them had suggested the spot, as he was the only one who roughly fit the dress code _and_ seemed to be enjoying himself. (The pre-teen next to him fit it perfectly, wearing the same fitted attire as everyone else, but he had a distinctly unimpressed frown fixed to his face.)

The other two with him were easily Eden’s favorite people in the place. Amongst all the prim and pomp of everyone and everything else around them, those two were wearing _hoodies_.

The tired-looking teen in the black Superman hoodie still sat up nicely and gave some regard to where he was, but the one in red did not give into the café’s demands of refinement in the _slightest_. In fact, the way he was lounging in his seat with his arms crossed and hood drawn up, he almost looked ready to take a nap. His resolve to not give a damn was nothing if not admirable.

“Hi, Veronica!” the barista chirped, startling Eden both with the name and how happy he sounded to see her in this unfriendly place. “I already started your usual but what else can I…” He blinked at her. “Oh, whoops,” his tone, though still professional, dropped. “Sorry, miss, I thought you were somebody else.”

“Uh, that’s alright. I’m actually ordering for a Veronica who comes in here every day, so…”

“Veronica Bradford?”

Eden nodded slowly, then turned to Aaron to be sure.

“Yeah, that’s her,” he confirmed. “And I’ll have the same, but with the blueberry whip and no caramel.”

The barista nodded, writing that down, then turned to Eden, who was awkwardly fishing through Veronica’s big white purse to find the girl’s wallet.

“And you, miss?” he prompted.

“Oh, uh, do you have sweet tea?”

“We have tea and sweeteners we can add? Sugar and sugar-free options.”

“No, that’s— I’m good actually, thank you.”

“Are you sure? We have plenty to choose from.”

“No, that’s alright. Thank you.”

“Just get what we’re getting,” Aaron pressed. “It’s not bad, and you’re not paying for it anyway.”

“Neither are _you_ ,” she reminded him.

He shrugged.

“They _are_ really good, miss,” the barista added. “It’s not tea but it's a sweet latte. It’s one of my favorites to recommend.”

“Oh, alright,” she sighed a little. “I guess I’ll take one, too.”

She went back to digging through the purse. When she finally found Veronica’s wallet, she almost blanched at the luxury brand name printed clearly across the front. Carefully, she opened it and delicately handed the barista the pink credit card. Aaron took over from there and left a _huge_ tip that almost made Eden faint.

She stared at the receipt, blindly following him to a table. The three-digit number stared back.

“You’re giving her this,” she said suddenly, shoving the thin paper at him. “I don’t want _nothing_ to do with that.”

“Oh, calm down, Eden. Her _daddy dearest_ is so rich she won’t even bat an eyelash.”

Eden carefully set the purse onto their table, noticed the same brand name in rose gold on its front, and gently pushed it away from her. “I feel like a thief.”

Aaron scoffed, pulling out his phone. “With that bag? You look the part.”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

After a moment, she straightened and lifted herself up to see out the front window. From their high table near the corner, she could _just_ catch the top of Veronica’s head. It moved in such a way that clearly meant she was still on the phone.

“Do I really look like her?” she asked in a small voice, sitting back down. “Like Veronica?”

Even if she wasn’t currently _happy_ with the woman, Eden couldn’t deny she was a little flattered to have been mistaken for her. Veronica was undeniably pretty; beautiful in the way rich folks could easily afford to be. Like every inch of her was perfectly tailored to meet the highest of society’s standards.

“Hmm.” Aaron briefly glanced up from his phone. “I guess I can see it. You could easily be her double for some, like, security reason.”

Eden snorted. “Well if I was, I might just call out sick with the way she was talking to me earlier.”

“Oh, don’t let her get to you,” he said waving a hand. “That wasn’t too bad. She orders everyone around like that every once and a while.”

“That’s not what I was talking about, but that’s definitely rude, too.”

He raised a brow.

“Whatever backwater state I’m from?”

It took him a moment, then, “Oh. Yeah.” He went back to his phone. “Don’t take it personally. She’s just a spoiled little heiress.”

“She basically called me a moron from a state full of morons. How am I _not_ supposed to take that personally? And then she just threw out different states like _everyone_ south of New Jersey is a moron.”

Aaron shrugged, not really caring. “Veronica says things without thinking all the time. She’s nice enough most of the time, right? She’s still buying you a drink.”

“I really don’t give a damn that she’s buying me a drink,” Eden threw back. “She upset me, and she should know it and apologize. Nobody says anything when she does something wrong, and I’m sick of it. I hate how everybody walks on eggshells with her just ‘cause she’s rich.”

 _“Listen_ , Eden.” He sounded tired. “You can do whatever the hell you want but I’m trying to give you a heads-up. You’re not from around here and this is, what, your first show with Veronica?”

She nodded.

“Well, the reason _nobody says anything_ ,” he said copying her accent (and earning a glare), “isn’t because she’s rich. It’s because if you get on _her_ bad side, you get on her _dad’s_ bad side. And William Bradford pours _a lot_ of money into Gotham’s theater scene. Understand?”

Eden blinked at him. There were a few old, well-to-do families that lived near her hometown who liked to have their fingers in a lot of pies – the Henriksens especially so – so she understood what he was saying perfectly. But still, she couldn’t quite believe her ears.

Pulling that kind of nonsense in _theater?_ And in Gotham City of all places? Wasn’t there something a little more… underworld-y that Mr. Bradford could focus on?

“You’re kidding, right?”

“ _Nope_ ,” Aaron said popping the p. “Happened to one of Veronica’s best friends— _ex-_ best friends, Christina. They had a _huge_ falling out and Christina couldn’t get a single call-back for over a _year_. She ended up moving to New York to try finding work there, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how cut-throat _their_ theater scene is.”

Eden frowned at the table, then looked up at him again. “Well, that’s a best friend she got in a fight with. I’m nobody to her. If I’m polite about what’s bothering me, she won’t have any reason to ask her daddy to do something like that to me.”

“That’s just it though!” he said leaning over the table, lowering his voice. “Veronica _didn’t_ ask her dad to do it. She didn’t have a _clue_ what was happening with Christina! Just like she doesn’t have a clue why she keeps getting a lead role in every show she auditions for!”

“It’s… not because she’s a good actress?”

Aaron gave her an annoyed, unbelieving look. “Would _you_ have cast her as Jane?”

“Well—” Eden sat up straight. “Well, I mean… Maybe not me _personally_ , but— I mean, she is very pretty, and Jane is canonically the prettiest girl in town, and— and she’s certainly not a _bad_ actress, I mean…”

“No, she’s not,” he agreed. “But she’s definitely not lead-role material. Daphne’s lucky she wanted to play Jane and not Elizabeth. Can you _imagine_ her playing Elizabeth?” Aaron made a scandalized face and obnoxiously rolled his eyes at the thought.

Eden, unable to deny how awful Veronica would likely be in the role but also unwilling to say such a thing aloud, stumbled over a response until a barista called out Veronica’s name.

Eager to take the escape, she hopped out of her chair. “I’ll get that and you guard the purse.”

Aaron just hummed and picked up his phone again.

On her way to the counter, Eden spared a glance at the nearby corner booth, the one with the boys in the hoodies. The four of them were having a lively conversation and she enjoyed the small snippets of back and forth she could catch.

The one in the red hoodie no longer looked ready to take a nap but was instead hunched over the table, his jaw resting in his hand as he made small jabs at the people around him. The younger two snapped back quickly, and the smiling, eldest-looking one laughed while still trying to keep the peace.

The way they were digging at each other reminded Eden of her own “brothers”. She couldn’t help but smile. She sighed, unintentionally loud, missing her loveable idiots.

The one in the red hoodie lifted his head toward the sound but, thanks to the hood covering half his face, Eden was able to turn away before he caught her eavesdropping.

The barista waiting with the drinks gave her a wide smile. “Hi, Veronica! We’re still making your last drink but—” She cocked her head suddenly and squinted. “Wait…”

“No, I’m not Veronica,” Eden said with an amused smile. “But I am here for her drinks.”

“Oh.” The girl laughed at herself. “Sorry about that. The last one’s just going to be another minute.”

Eden nodded, picking up the two that were ready. “Thank you.”

As she returned to her and Aaron’s table, she glanced toward the boys again. This time, the smiling eldest was grinning and whispering something towards red hoodie boy, who was looking in the opposite direction and not-so-subtly flipping him off. The teen in the Superman hoodie accidentally locked eyes with Eden and the both of them quickly looked away.

Eden then noticed a man in the opposite corner of the café, watching her. When she looked at him, he jerked his head away and quickly took a sip from his cup. Eden slowed her walk and furrowed her brows, a tightness forming in her gut.

 _“Yaaasss,”_ Aaron called, stealing her attention as he reached for his drink. “Give me that Rich Bitch Latte.”

“Is _that_ what you call it?”

He shrugged, taking a sip. “Mine has blueberry _whip cream._ If that doesn’t scream rich bitch, what does?”

Eden made a slight face. Blueberry whip cream didn't seem all that luxurious to her – it certainly wasn’t hard to make – but even if it was, she couldn't imagine it tasted good with a _latte_.

“That barista mixed me up for Veronica too,” she said after a moment.

Aaron snorted. “Maybe you _should_ be her double. You’d get paid good money for it, I’m sure.”

Eden hummed. She turned her attention back to the curious man in the opposite corner.

At first glance, he fit the establishment fine. He wore a simple grey suit and a hat and was now totally engrossed with his phone. But the suit was a little too non-descript and untidy, and the hat a bit beat-up. Not to mention, slouching in his seat like he was, he didn’t match the prim properness of most of the other patrons.

Though… maybe she was being unfair to him. After all, she’d praised the guy in the red hoodie for the same thing, hadn’t she?

She glanced to the booth of boys again. The one in the red hoodie must have been looking her way because his head moved the second hers did. Eden didn’t get a tight, sinking sensation in her stomach when he did, though. Nor had she when she locked eyes with the teenager.

She turned back to the older man, still fidgeting with his phone. What was the difference between them? Maybe it was weirder because he was older. The other guys were closer to her age and therefore… what, _safer?_

Eden huffed at herself. Age wasn’t an indication of danger, she knew that. The people who came to the farm looking for safety were hiding from men of all ages. (They were almost always hiding from men.) From young men full of piss and vinegar and a sense of superiority; old men with strings to pull and favors they could call in; men of any age with a brutal mean streak that came from years of privilege, or hardship…

So it wasn’t their age. And none of them were dressed “appropriately” for the cafe – though the hoodie boys even less so – so it wasn’t that either. Maybe it was how stiffly and forcibly the man had reacted when Eden noticed him staring. Though that, too, didn’t necessarily mean any—

“Veronica Bradford!” the barista called again, breaking Eden’s thoughts.

On her second trip back to the table, Eden watched the man from the corner of her eye. It seemed like he was looking at her again too, adding to her concern. He moved his hands a bit and then—

Eden stopped. She turned to stare directly at the man, who hurried to shift his torso so his phone was no longer pointing at her. She scowled. She knew exactly what he was now. But what in the world was a scout doing _here_ of all places?

A scout – as Mama always called them – could be anybody. A private investigator or a random person off the street; it didn’t matter. Their job was simple: find their mark and get proof of where and when they were and who they were with.

But… who was this guy’s mark? It couldn’t be Eden. He was taking her picture, sure, but… The only people who might be looking for her were her parents, and neither of them would have recruited someone so… _obvious._

Still, she reported it to Aaron as she sat down. “There’s a man taking pictures,” she told him gravely.

He glanced up at her, giving her a weird look. “O… _kay?_ Everyone takes pictures here. It’s a wannabe Snapstagram influencer’s wet dream.”

“I _meant_ ,” she said frowning, “he’s taking pictures of _me_.”

“Huh? Who?” He looked around without a _hint_ of subtlety.

Eden smacked her head with her hand. She could’ve kicked him. Of course, it was her own fault for thinking he would understand. Aaron wasn’t one of her “cousins” or semi-siblings. He was just some guy from Gotham who knew nothing about life on Paradise Farm.

“Would you _stop!?”_ she hissed, trying to hide her face from the scout. “He’s behind you, in the corner booth by the windows. Grey suit, brown hat— _Don’t_ be obvious.”

Aaron, bless him, finally caught on. He turned his head slowly from one end of the café to the other. He stared at the man a few beats too long then turned back to her.

“Are you sure? He just looks like his phone’s giving him trouble.”

Eden shook her head. “I caught him doing it, so now he’s nervous. He was just staring at me the first time I got up, but the second time he had his phone pointed at me and everything.”

He looked over his shoulder at the scout, then back again. “Maybe he’s paparazzi,” he offered. “The baristas all thought you were Veronica. Maybe he does, too.”

Eden blinked at him. She hadn’t thought of that. Despite not being anywhere _near_ the farm, the idea the man could be anything _but_ a scout hadn’t even crossed her mind. But it made some sense… After all, who would he even be scouting? Nobody here was in hiding.

“She has paparazzi?”

“Local heiress constantly landing lead roles who models on the side?” Aaron shrugged. “She’s not headline news or anything, but she pops up in local shit every once and a while.”

Eden frowned at her drink. She glanced over at the man again, taking a sip of her latte. “And are paparazzi people always so nervous when they get caught?”

“Do I _look_ like I know the answer to that?”

“You’ve been around Veronica longer than I have,” she insisted. “You’d know better than I would.”

“I _guess_ ,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. He thought about it a moment. “I don’t know. She doesn’t usually notice them, but I guess some of them get a little embarrassed when other people do. But, like, it’s their _job_. They can’t exactly be bashful about it or they won’t get paid.”

She nodded thoughtfully and took another sip, reluctant to admit it tasted extremely good.

Her eyes slid over to the man once more. Then she stopped and glared. Loudly, she slammed her cup onto the table — startling Aaron and catching other patrons’ attention as well. Including the man, who’d been pointing his phone at her _again_.

He scrambled to put it away, stood, and started grabbing his things.

“I think you scared him, _Veronica,_ ” Aaron muttered sarcastically.

“ _Good_.” She leaned back in her chair and took a celebratory drink, not taking her eyes off the man. “Paparazzi, huh?”

“Well, what else would he be?” Aaron asked, rolling his eyes again. “A stalker? The guy doesn't exactly scream danger. Anyway, he’s leaving now so it doesn’t—”

Eden jerked up in her seat. _“Uh-oh.”_

The _real_ Veronica stepped through the door. Looking around, she spotted Aaron and Eden near the back corner, smiled, and started walking toward them. A flabbergasted expression crossed the man’s face when she passed him by.

 _“Uh-oh,"_ Eden said again.

The oblivious heiress didn’t notice him stop walking or the way he was staring at her, but Eden did. And she knew that look in his eye.

“Oh, no.”

The scout had found his mark.

Eden didn’t think about it. One second she was sitting in her chair – buzzing with wild, nervous energy – the next she was grabbing Veronica’s drink and taking long strides across the café’s shining floors. She grinned playfully at the unsuspecting girl.

Veronica’s smile didn’t fall, but her brows furrowed slightly as Eden approached. “Hey, sorry about that. Daddy always calls me when he gets to a new hotel.”

“Oh, no problem, Eden!” Eden said handing Veronica her drink.

Veronica took it, went to speak, then seemed to short-circuit — suddenly blinking and staring at her in a baffled way. Eden took the moment to link their arms and move her away from the scout, who seemed stuck in place.

“Actually, my daddy does the same,” she said in the same, polished Rich-Girl-Gothamite accent she’d used before. “We’re _super_ close. Oh, and tell me if you like the drink, yeah? It’s my _favorite_. I get it every day.”

Veronica glanced down at her drink, then up at Eden, totally lost.

As they approached the table, Eden did a quick sweep of their surroundings and was glad they were sitting where they were. Their table was near the side exit and all the nearby tables were empty, save the now silent booth of boys.

Though none of them were looking in her direction, Eden couldn’t help quirking a brow in theirs, wondering what had dulled their lively spirits.

“So… what’s going on exactly?” Veronica asked in a nervous pitch as they reached Aaron.

“Eden thinks she has a stalker,” he explained.

 _“No,”_ Eden corrected in her own voice. “I think _Veronica_ has a scout— stalker— whatever thing. And _they_ think Veronica is _me_.”

“They…” Veronica looked between the two of them, then laughed nervously. “Oh, Edie, that’s… I seriously doubt anyone would think _you_ were _me_.”

“Two of the baristas thought I was you.”

“Brayden thought she was you,” Aaron confirmed.

Veronica’s mouth fell open. She stared at the guy behind the register in disbelief before turning it on Eden. Eden just grinned and moved her head to the side like she’d heard something funny.

There, in the corner of her eyes, she could see the man inching back to his corner booth. Watching them.

“Oh my god, Edie!” she said loud and clear in her Veronica voice, setting the real Veronica into a seat facing away from the man. “You are just too cute!”

“Wait.” Veronica leaned over, talking low. “Why are you talking like a normal person now?”

A flash of anger broke Eden’s character. _“Excuse me?”_

“Why are you talking like a normal person now?” she repeated, apparently unaware of her offense. “And why are you calling _me_ Eden?”

Eden took a deep breath, trying to regain her cool. “I’m not talking like a ‘normal person’,” she explained slowly, being sure to sit up straight and hold her head in the proud, haughty way the rest of the patrons did. “I’m talking like _you_. And I’m calling _you_ Eden so that scout-stalker guy leaves _you_ alone.”

“She’s being your double,” Aaron said with a grin. Eden glared at him. “Am I wrong?”

She looked away. _“No,”_ she grumbled.

He nodded, satisfied.

Veronica looked between the two of them, not getting it, then turned back to Eden. “ _Why_ are you doing this exactly? Are you expecting me to pay you for it?”

“What? No! I’m helping you because you're in trouble, obviously.”

The other two stared at her. Somehow that simple concept seemed foreign to them.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Don’t you two act like you’ve never helped anybody out before just to be nice. I know this is Gotham but come on now. Not everybody in this city can be that heartless.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Aaron cooed, resting a hand over his heart. Eden glared at him.

Veronica tried to say something, stopped, then tried again. “But… _why?_ It’s not your problem, so…”

“So what? That guy’s trouble.” Eden tilted her head. “Do you… _want_ some scout-stalker taking your picture? Knowing where you’ve been and when you go there?”

“No, but… Are you _sure_ he’s trouble?” she asked. “Maybe he’s just, I don’t know, some weirdo who likes taking pictures of pretty girls.”

“Could be.” Eden shrugged. “But I seriously doubt it, the way he’s been acting. It’s just sorta… obvious he’s here for you.”

“Obvious?” She made a face and started looking around the café – thankfully never over her shoulder – trying to find the trouble herself. “I don’t see anyone making it obvious.”

“You’re just not used to it.”

“And you are?”

Eden opened her mouth and shut it. She shuffled in her seat, not really sure how to explain it. Back home, she’d never _had_ to explain it. Everybody just knew. And not just her small town. The whole _county_ knew.

They knew Paradise Farm and its famous little bakery. They knew Mama and Eden and her mismatched group of semi-siblings (or _of_ them, at least). They knew if you needed a place to go, Paradise Farm had its doors open, and “cousins” were always welcome.

Some who came, came for simple reasons. Wandering free spirits who enjoyed earning their stay and living more-or-less off the land, people who needed a little space after an argument, a partygoer looking for a safe place to sober up before heading home; simple things like that.

But sometimes it was more. Sometimes the reasons were complicated. Kids who’d been kicked out of their homes, kids trying to _escape_ their homes, abused spouses who just wanted to disappear, people who couldn’t go to the law because an officer or a judge was a part of the problem; the kinds of folks who had nowhere else to go, no one left to turn to. The kind who needed _help_.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Aaron lowered his voice and moved closer, his eyes sparkling. “Are you, like… some kind of small-time hero? Is that why you moved to Gotham? To like, meet Batman and become a vigilante?”

Eden recoiled at the notion. _“No!_ No, no, I’m—!” She chomped down on the words trying to fly out of her mouth, trying to control herself. “I’m not— I don’t— Don’t get me wrong, I like helping people and stuff,” she said fiddling with the table’s edge, _very_ aware of Aaron’s eager, penetrating stare. “But I’m not like— I’m not a, a—” she couldn’t even say the word. Not when it was being tied to her.

Still, Aaron just nodded along. Looking for all the world like an unmasked hero was sitting in front of him and begging him to keep their secret. Eden’s hands started to shake. It was like talking to her father all over again.

“Really, Aaron. I’m… I’m _not_ ,” she said, trying to be firm. “I couldn’t do the things they do.”

“You could _try_ ,” he insisted, sounding just like him.

Eden went numb.

She couldn’t. She really, really couldn’t. She knew because she _had_ tried. She’d tried, and tried, and tried so many times. But no matter how many times she tried, no matter how many times Frank had told her it was her purpose, her destiny, her _responsibility_ , she just plain couldn’t.

When Mama found out, she was furious. Not with Eden, but Frank. It was too much for a kid to handle, she’d said. Especially one like Eden. She'd never wanted her daughter to endure that kind of sacrifice and pain—

Oh, the _pain!_ Every time – every goddamn time – there was always so much pain!

Not that she had any right to complain, as Frank would remind her. She was a metahuman. She was always fine. Her body healed.

And it did.

It healed, and healed, and healed. Erasing every bullet, every blade, every hand that had ever left its mark on her; stealing away every scar she might’ve earned, every wound she might’ve carried. It healed, and healed, and healed. So perfectly, so flawlessly, so unnaturally — and it never stopped.

Even when she died, it didn’t stop. It didn’t matter if someone killed her themselves or if she took on someone else’s death. Even if it was by her own hand, it didn’t stop. She always came back. Her body always healed. The universe always demanded an encore.

It never, ever, _ever_ stopped.

“Are you okay, Ed— I mean, _Veronica?”_ Veronica said obviously, garnering some of Eden’s attention. “You look a little sick.”

“She’s just freaking out ‘cause I figured out she’s not the everyday normal person she pretends to be,” Aaron said smugly.

Eden still couldn’t speak.

Veronica smacked him. “Don’t be an idiot, Aaron. You’re freaking her out because you’re insisting there’s something remarkable about her when there isn’t at all. E— _Veronica_ is completely normal and average in every possible way!”

Eden winced at the unintended insult. Aaron made a slight face too, but, of course, Veronica didn’t notice.

“Anyway, _Veronica_ ,” she continued, turning back to her. “You’ve done this sort of thing before, yeah? What do we do now?”

Eden blinked a few times, still pulling herself out of her spiral, then glanced over at the scout. “Well… Normally I’d try to get a picture of the guy, but…”

 _“But?”_ Aaron asked eagerly.

She froze again. She took a long, deep breath. “Well… since I made such a fuss catching him in the act earlier, I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again.”

He pouted. “Really? You think a stalker’s going to give up just like that?”

“No, he—” Eden huffed and shook her head. _“He’s_ not the real problem. He’s just some guy who’s supposed to be taking Veronica’s pictures. Maybe figuring out her routine or whatever. But he got caught twice, so whoever sent him probably won’t send him again unless they’re desperate. Or stupid, I suppose. Either way, I doubt taking his picture would really help much. Though I guess it could help us figure out who hired him in the first place, but I don’t really know who I’d even send it to here—”

She stopped her rambling, noticing the open-mouthed, wide-eyed way her companions were staring at her.

“Oh— I— Uh—" She quickly took a sip of her nearly forgotten latte, trying to hide behind the cup. “Sorry,” she murmured.

Aaron shook himself, almost violently, out of his stupor. “Oh, okay, yeah, you just know all this crap and you’re _not_ a vigilante or something?”

“I’m _not,”_ she grumbled. “My mama taught me what to watch out for, so I do.”

“So your _mom’s_ the vigilante?”

“My—" Eden blinked and shook her head fervently, trying to follow his logic. _"What?”_

Not that she’d admit it to a pair of acquaintances, but anyone who knew her mama – like, _really_ knew her, not the role she played – knew Louanne Smith was more likely to be on a most-wanted list than be considered a vigilante. Though Red Hood was probably on a few wanted lists himself, now that she thought about it, and her mama certainly broke the law not turning over certain people to the sheriff, so... maybe she _would_ be considered a vigilante?

“Ugh, ignore him, Edi— _Veronica_ ,” Veronica said rolling her eyes. “Aaron has a total hard-on for Gotham’s bats. He loves the way they break the law and—"

“What is _wrong_ with breaking the law if it means helping people?” he burst in.

“We have laws for a reason, Aaron,” Veronica insisted. “I can admit Gotham’s vigilantes help the _little people_ here and there—”

Eden bristled at her tone.

“—but in the grand scheme of things—” 

“In the grand scheme of things, they help people. End of story.” Veronica shot him a dirty look, but he made no move to try and placate her. This, apparently, was a hill worth dying on. “End of story,” he said again.

“Oh, yeah right. Like you really care. Everyone knows you’re just in love with Red Hood’s thighs.”

Eden made an involuntary high-pitched sound, curling in on herself.

“I can care about what the vigilantes do for this city and still appreciate how sexy they are,” Aaron said proudly. “Red Hood’s jacked and has the thighs of a god and I’m not ashamed to admit I would tap that in an instant.”

Eden stared dead at the table, trying not to think about Red Hood as her face grew piping hot.

“Besides, you’re one to talk,” he continued, either ignoring or not noticing Eden’s discomfort. “You always go on and on about how hot Nightwing’s ass is!”

“Which it _is,_ but that’s not the point! They might be hot but those vigilantes are the reason we have so many crazy supervillains in this city!”

 _“_ Those hot vigilantes are the only reason we have any sort of _justice_ in this city!”

Hiding her burning face in her hands, Eden just shook her head, trying to phase out of existence as they went back and forth on their stances of law, order, and whether or not Batman was a dilf.

Eventually, she peeked through her fingers and found the scout watching them with an uncertain look on his face. His phone was still in his hand, however, close to his chest and pointed in her direction, so they weren’t out of the woods yet.

Eden groaned and ran her fingers through her hair as she dropped her head. Then she popped back up, her expression taut, like an heiress who’d been ignored for far too long.

“ _Ex_ — _cuse_ — _me!”_ she said clapping her hands, forcing the bickering to finally stop. She gave them a tight smile, speaking lowly in her own voice. “Y’all can have this… _discussion_ some other time – preferably when I’m not here – but right now, we’re in the middle of something.” She stood from her seat. “So I’m gonna need you two to stop. _Now_.”

The guilty party shared a look then muttered an annoyed agreeance.

“Thank you,” she said with a nod. “Now then.” She grabbed Veronica’s big white purse and confidently slung it over her shoulder. “Are we ready to go?” she asked loud and clear in her Veronica voice, gesturing to the side door. “I’m sure Daphne and the rest of the cast are waiting for us.”

“Sure thing, Veronica,” Aaron said a little louder than usual. “Lead the way.”

Eden smiled and linked arms with the real Veronica, constantly shifting to keep the girl’s face hidden from the scout as much as possible. As they exited the café, she pointed to something down the street, giving Veronica an excuse to keep her head turned.

Eden on the other hand tried to catch a glimpse of the scout from the corner of her eye. Instead, she ended up latching on to the group of boys one last time.

A few of them looked uncomfortable but all four were quiet, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. But Eden could tell that wasn’t right. Even if they didn’t seem focused on anything in particular, she knew they were. It was almost like she could _see_ that they were… were… She didn’t know what to call it. _Ready? On?_ Something like that. But why? What for?

The guy in the red hoodie shifted back, leaning lazily against the booth cushions. His hood stayed in place despite his head tipping up toward the ceiling. Though unable to see his eyes, Eden had the sudden sense that he was watching her.

Should she be nervous? Had she set too much of her attention on the man on the other side of the café? Should she have been watching these boys as well? She didn’t feel like she needed to worry about them. Had she made a mistake?

She walked arm-in-arm with Veronica until they reached the end of the block and crossed the street. There, she released the girl and spun around, scanning the stream of people for the face of the scout, or perhaps even one of the boys.

She suddenly wished she _had_ snuck a picture. Maybe back home it wouldn’t be such a big deal, but this was Gotham. And Veronica was a high-profile local. As much as Eden preferred giving people the benefit of the doubt, this wasn’t a safe situation to assume anything but the worst.

Not seeing anyone from the café, she sighed and rejoined Veronica and Aaron, who were giving her nervous looks. She smiled at them.

“All good.” She took the purse from her shoulder and handed it back to Veronica. “You might want to consider having someone else get your latte for a while. Maybe an assistant or something? And maybe some kind of security for yourself. Just to be safe.”

Veronica nodded mutely, then muttered out a small thank you before taking Eden’s arm again. She held it tightly, with a concerned look on her face, so Eden didn’t complain. Every few blocks they would stop or slow down and she would check the crowd around them for caution’s sake.

The walk to Stardunks and back to the practice hall was fairly quiet, giving Eden plenty of time to think. Mainly she wondered if she should bring up the day’s events to Red Hood. It wasn’t anything vigilante-worthy, not yet anyway, but Veronica’s status certainly made it a possibility. And Eden stepping in as her double _probably_ counted as doing something stupid, which, even though he'd been joking, he’d asked her not to do.

In fact, when they stepped into the practice hall and Veronica started telling everyone what had happened and how Eden had “saved” her, and Aaron reiterated her “vigilante-like knowledge”, and a number of people started looking at her with a curious sort of twinkle in their eyes, the stuttering, blushing Eden was quite certain she’d done something very, _very_ stupid indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, this one felt really long! Or maybe it just took a bit longer to write? 🤨 Idk  
> Either way, please let me know your thoughts! As always, any feedback is adored 🥰💕


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is Gotham City but helping people isn’t a CRIME, Red Hood! Eden’s not afraid of no crazy nutzos! Er, well… Okay, maybe she’s a LITTLE afraid of crazy nutzos, but… But that’s not gonna stop her from helping people when she can!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: minor swearing, minor mentions of suic*de and previous suic*dal behavior, minor mentions of previous abuse, abuse forgiven/excused by victim (which I personally don't care for but this is how Eden currently handles/perceives her trauma)
> 
> (Also, tomorrow's my birthday so here's my gift to YOU! 🥰😚💕💕)

Eden sat down at the table with a content sigh. The heavenly aroma of homemade garlic bread was more prominent now that the rolls were right in front of her. The scent, mixed with the expectation of company and the eagerness of having some Mad Mountain Fudge chilling in her fridge, made her feel incredibly at-home. Though, to be fair, it was more of a _hope_ for company than an expectation.

Red Hood said he’d _try_ to come this night or the next, but that didn’t necessarily mean he would. Admittedly, Eden's shier half – which vividly recalled Aaron’s earlier, uh… _praises_ toward Red Hood’s… _physique_ – wouldn’t entirely mind waiting a few days to see him. The rest of her was so excited, though, that she had to keep reminding herself it was _okay_ if he didn’t come tonight. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. He was a busy man, after all, saving dumbasses like herself and doing… whatever an ex-mob boss might do to make a place like Gotham better.

Not that any of that stopped her from hoping he would come, of course. Nor would it stop her from being disappointed if he didn’t. Even so, Eden knew she was just one, very small person among millions other very small people in this giant city. She understood that visiting a random civilian like her, even with the world's greatest fudge in her fridge, couldn't rank very high on Red Hood’s to-do list. Especially in a city filled with thousands of _not_ -so-very-small people — many of whom were quite dangerous. 

Still, taking in her surroundings, Eden couldn’t help but smile. She was excited for him to come visit. The entire one-roomed apartment – not just the kitchen space – was clean now. She was back in the habit of making her bed every morning, and— okay, fine, the chair by her closet still held her not-quite-clean clothes, but at least they were folded now! Which was an improvement from the misshapen pile of before!

The once-crowded coffee table had also been improved. Now, it only housed her laptop, headphones, and _one_ book (and notebook) at a time. The rest of her books and notebooks – aside from the pair she kept on the kitchen table – had a new home, piled neatly along the wall dividing the kitchen from the main living/sleeping space. They still needed a proper shelf, but the current setup worked nicely for now.

Two plants with tall, twisting stems stood guard on either side of her slow-growing book collection, while a small, mismatched assortment of baby foliage in tiny, colorful pots sat along the edge of her kitchen table near the window. It wasn’t anything compared to rows and rows of crops back on the farm, nor the nearby woods she dearly missed walking through, but it still felt good to be around some greenery again.

Biting into a roll, Eden continued penning ideas into the notebook she kept on the kitchen table; new ways to make her place even homier, things that needed her attention, different possibilities to look into. Though it was the mortifying thought of Red Hood coming back to her apartment in its previous state that had spurred her into action, Eden now found herself genuinely starting to enjoy the little space.

Now that she was putting in the effort, her apartment was actually starting to feel… pleasant. Welcoming, even. And even though her neighbors were still ridiculously loud at times, Eden was finding herself _happy_ with her little home. Whenever she paused to take it all in... she truly enjoyed the fruits of her labor.

Eden suddenly stopped writing. Her heart leapt in excitement as she looked to the far window, the one that led to the fire escape. It could be nothing, but she could’ve _sworn_ she’d heard— The soft tapping repeated itself.

Scrambling up from the table, Eden flew to the window – nearly slipping in her socks – and beamed at the sight of Red Hood on the other side. He greeted her with a short wave of his hand.

“Hi there, Mr. Hood!” she greeted the moment she had the window open. “It’s so nice to see you again! How are you? Your fudge is almost ready, but it needs another couple of minutes or so to finish chilling. I hope that’s alright? I remembered you said you might stop by tonight, but I didn’t think it would be until later on so I— _oh!_ Where are my manners?” She moved out of the way, her cheeks warming. “Won’t you come in?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” 

Eden smiled as he deftly climbed inside, pleased to find she could still easily recognize Red Hood’s humored tone.

“Smells good in here,” he said turning toward the kitchen.

She quirked a brow, glancing at his helmet. “You can smell with that thing on?”

“It has an automatic filtration system." He lifted his chin, apparently quite proud of it. "Keeps Fear Gas out, lets good-smelling food in.”

 _"Really?”_ She hummed, making a show of looking over his helmet. “It doesn’t look all that fancy to _me_ , Mr. Hood."

He scoffed. “It’s a lot more high-tech than it looks, _Cookie Girl.”_

“Oh, yeah?” She turned up her nose, grinning, as she led him toward the kitchen table. “What kind of high-tech stuff does it have, then, hotshot?”

“All kinds,” he said unabashedly, not afraid to meet her teasing head-on. “There’s the obvious, like night vision, thermal imaging, incendiary devices, and high-frequency—”

“Hold on, wait.” She turned the words over in her head. “Incendiary devices? Isn’t that just fancy talk for bombs?"

“It might be,” he said confidently.

"You have a _bomb_ in your helmet?" She made a humored face. “That doesn’t sound very high-tech, Mr. Hood. Or obvious.”

He hummed, leaning forward slightly, resting his hands on his hips. “You don’t believe me?” Eden could imagine him grinning at her.

She crossed her arms playfully. “No way. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me. There’s no way you have an _actual_ bomb that close to your head. You’re not _that_ crazy, Mr. Hood.”

He made an amused sound, tilting his head to one side.

Eden opened her mouth, then shut it. She looked him up and down, faltering. “Are… _Are_ you? Mr. Hood, do you really have— Are you— Please tell me you’re joking. That’s— _Do you?”_

“Relax, Ede.” He said it comfortably, as if he called her that all the time. Eden blinked, trying to remember if he’d _ever_ called her that before — or anything other than Cookie Girl. “It’s just for absolutely fucked situations where I don’t have any other options.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait— You don’t mean— You don’t _mean_ —” She jabbed at her temples frantically, trying to sputter something out.

Red Hood watched her struggle until what she was trying to say finally clicked.

He jerked forward, his hands up. “Shit, not like _that!_ It’s an escape thing, not a kill myself thing,” he explained. “I take it off and throw it like a grenade.”

“Oh. Cool. Okay. A grenade. That’s cool.”

“Breathe, Cookie Girl," he reminded her.

“I’m breathing! Totally breathing!” She took a huge breath for good measure. Then another. “Sorry, I just—” She shook her head, plopping into her seat. She looked at him, then, in realization, jolted right back up again. “Oh, sorry! Please,” she gestured to the spare chair in front of him, “have a seat.”

“I’m alright.” Red Hood leaned onto its back, watching her sit down again. Her face was red hot. “You okay?”

“Yes, fine, thank you.” She took a few slow breaths, her brows pulled together with worry. “Do you… end up in situations like that a lot? Where you have to blow up your helmet to get away?”

Just a few nights ago, there’d been an explosion on the Westward Bridge. One of her coworkers said a friend spotted Red Hood escaping the scene afterwards. Eden, becoming more accustomed to Gotham’s shenanigans than she cared to admit, hadn’t worried about him too much when she’d heard. In fact, oddly enough, she’d felt a bit proud. But maybe she shouldn’t have.

Maybe she was wrong to have assumed he was okay. Maybe he’d been in serious trouble. Maybe he’d needed help. Maybe she should’ve done something. Maybe she should’ve—

“Not really,” Red Hood answered, breaking her dizzying thoughts with a casual shrug. “It’s the last of my last resorts, and it’s pretty rare for me to be so off my game.”

“Oh. Oh, _good._ That's...” She sighed in relief, then smiled up at him. “I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Hood.”

Of course. What in the world was she thinking? Red Hood wasn’t some small-time, stumbling wannabe. Unlike her pitiful attempts at playing hero, _he_ actually knew what he was doing. If she ever showed up to one of his firefights, she’d probably just end up causing him trouble and end up staggering home with a plethora of healing bullet holes and another encore under her belt. (Maybe two, if she was particularly unlucky.)

Red Hood pulled out his chair and turned it so that its back was nearly up against the wall beside them. When he sat down, angled the way he was, he had a clear line of sight of the entire apartment.

The move was familiar to Eden, but it surprised her to see it done so precisely and naturally. The only other person she’d seen do that – and do it _like_ that – was Mama.

Mama always had to have an eye on her surroundings, so she rarely took a seat without her back against a wall or being tucked in a corner. The habit was one of many from her life before "Louanne Smith". They were so far ingrained into her psyche that if she ever tried to go against them the struggle was obvious to even the blindest fool. Though she feigned ignorance at having ever lived such a life, it had obviously taught her all the skills she now used to keep their “cousins” safe: how to observe and analyze even the smallest detail, how to fight and defend unflinchingly, how to disappear without a trace, how to… make _other_ people disappear.

It made Eden curious to see Red Hood with a habit like that. On the bright side, it probably meant she didn’t have to worry about him the way she had been. If he was even _half_ as capable as Mama was, chances were he could handle just about anything thrown at him — even in a place like Gotham.

But… on the not-so-bright side, she had to wonder...

Red Hood tilted his head slowly. “What?”

“Hm?” Eden blinked and realized she been staring. “Oh, sorry! I was just remembering my, uh… um… well, it doesn’t really matter, I guess. I just got lost in thought. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Right, sor— I mean, uh, thank you. I guess.” Cheeks warm, she glanced around quickly for something else to talk about. “Um, would you like some garlic rolls, Mr. Hood?” She picked up the plate and offered it to him. “They’re stuffed with cheese.”

He leaned closer to the food, inhaling it. “So _that’s_ what smells so good.”

She smiled. “Try some!”

He started to grab one when his head turned toward the kitchen. He looked into it a moment then lowered his hand, sat back, and said, “On second thought, I’m okay.”

Eden lowered the plate slightly, surprised. She glanced into her kitchen, wondering what he’d seen to change his mind. The space was perfectly clean and tidy, as she always kept it. The only thing “out of place” was the baking sheet cooling on her stovetop. Any other dishes were already drying in the sink rack.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind… I’m happy to share.”

“I’m not interested in stealing your dinner. Besides,” he added in a lighter tone, “I need to save room for the fudge.”

Eden nodded slowly and set the plate down. Glancing toward the kitchen again, she wondered what had tipped him off that the rolls were her meal for the night. The empty baking sheet? The drying dishes? 

Always have more than you think you’ll need, she remembered. That was a tried-and-true rule on the farm. They never knew when they were going to have company, so there was always more of things than Eden’s family could ever go through on their own — more blankets, more clothes, more toiletries, more food. _Especially_ food. If there were seven people in the house, they made enough food for ten, and those extra servings came in handy more often than not.

“Can I get you something to drink, then, Mr. Hood?” she asked picking up her pen and writing the old rule into her notebook. “I have sweet tea, orange juice… uh, water…” She paused, thinking. “ _Milk?”_

He snorted. “I’m good.”

She quirked an impish brow. “Does your fancy, high-tech helmet even _have_ a way for you to drink things? Some built-in twisty-straw component or something?”

He shook his head, edging forward. “Nope. Sorry. No twisty-straws.”

“Your helmet can be an emergency grenade, but it has no cool twisty-straw thing?” She tsk-tsked, trading her pen for a roll. “I’m disappointed, Mr. Hood. It’s like you’re not even _trying_ to impress me.”

He chuckled. “I’ll get right on that, Cookie Girl,” he assured, a smirk-like quality to his voice.

Eden shook her head at him, trying to hide her grin behind the roll.

He nodded to the notebook in front of her. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, just some ideas.” She pushed it toward him, inviting him to look. “I haven’t been treating this place right,” she explained, pulling apart the roll. “Acting like it’s a prison when it’s a home in need of as much tender loving care as any other.”

Red Hood hummed, going over her lists. “Hard to make a home in a neighborhood like this,” he muttered.

“Doesn’t mean I need to let it sit and rot like I was. It’s nice to have a place you’re at least a _little_ proud of.”

He gave a half-shrug and nodded.

He flipped to a previous page in the notebook, glancing up to see if she minded. Eden shrugged, knowing most of the pages were haphazardly filled with everyday nonsense that likely wouldn’t mean much to him. He looked them over while she ate and she looked over him, a little embarrassed when he started reading out random thoughts.

“ _‘Mary: Superfluous, plain but extra, well-meaning but unaware’_?”

“Uh, that’s a… That’s a thing for work.”

“What do you do for work? Evaluate assholes?”

She laughed. “No, no, I’m a…" She fixed her posture, feeling a bit proud. "I’m an actress, actually."

“A professional liar? _Great_.”

“Wha—? _No!_ Lying and acting are two _very_ different skill sets, Mr. Hood!”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Cookie Girl. Whatever you say.”

“No really! I’ll have you know I’m an _awful_ liar but a really great— er, uh, well, okay, maybe not a _really_ great actor— I mean, maybe not a _great_ actor either, but, you know, I— Well, actually—”

He snickered, then moved on to the next blurb he could tease her with.

“Are all your notebooks filled like this?” he eventually asked, glancing at her collection against the wall.

She gave a half-shrug as she finished the last roll. “Some are more coherent. This one’s mostly for stuff that pops in my head while I’m eating or in the kitchen. It’s easier to have my thoughts written down where I can see them instead of fighting through them all in my head.”

“Makes sense.” He leaned forward brazenly. “Am _I_ in any of those thoughts?”

“Not any of the written down ones,” she said with a laugh, assuming that was the real question. “I’m not _that_ dumb, Mr. Hood.”

“Good to know,” he said with a nod. “Speaking of dumb, though…” He leaned back in his chair and fished out a cell phone from inside his leather jacket. “I was wondering if you could help me connect some dots here.”

 _“Me?_ I don’t know what you could possibly need my help sorting out, Mr. Hood," aside from an urgent, impromptu lesson on goat milking perhaps, "but I’ll certainly try.”

“Oh, you can help a lot more than you think, _Edie_.” Red Hood set the phone down on the table and pushed it toward her.

Eden blinked again at his sudden use of one of her everyday nicknames, now nervous. She looked down at the phone, at the picture on its screen, and her brows lifted in surprise. She immediately recognized the sleek, minimalist decor of Café Très Boissons and the slightly hunched, unassuming man who’d been taking her picture earlier that day. But more than that, she recognized the angle the picture had been taken from.

Turning to Red Hood, wide-eyed, she faintly recalled the faces of the boys in the corner booth. The younger two were obviously out of the running, but between the smiling one and the one in the red hoodie… It wasn’t exactly a hard leap to make.

“Wait, were you the guy—?”

“I have contacts all over this city,” he told her. “They keep me informed.”

Eden’s brow furrowed. She worked her mouth to say something, not really sure she believed him, but he leaned over the table and swiped the screen to the right, moving the conversation forward before she could. The new picture was taken closer to the scout and clearer than the first, better showing his face and overall frame.

“So imagine my surprise,” Red Hood went on, “when I learn a small-time heiress has a look-alike who can clock up a potential threat in a heartbeat, and it turns out that look-alike—” he swiped right again, this time to a grainy, blown-up picture of Eden, Veronica, and Aaron crossing the street “—is _you_.”

Eden stared at the picture: she and Veronica arm-in-arm, Veronica’s purse over her shoulder, a flippant expression on her face that didn’t seem to fit quite right. The picture was from an entirely different viewpoint, somewhere up in the air looking down on them, and of a far poorer quality than the first two.

“Security camera?” she guessed glancing up at him. His permeating stare was hard to meet through the angry “eyes” of his helmet.

“Traffic cam.”

Eden sank a little lower. “You’re making me feel like I’m in trouble here, Mr. Hood,” she mumbled.

“Aren’t you?” he accused. “You’ve practically got a flashing neon sign on your forehead that says _In Deep Shit_.”

“No, I—” She huffed and moved some hair out of her face. “I do not. I _meant_ trouble like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar.”

“Funny.” He moved to rest his jaw on his fist. “I didn’t.”

Eden lowered her gaze, unable to meet the unbreakable scrutiny of his “eyes”. “I’m not in any trouble,” she muttered, rubbing her socked feet together under the table. “Not like that, anyway. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Y’know,” he half-teased, “I think I’m starting to understand what you meant about being able to lie and being able to act.”

She struggled with a response to that. “What… What even makes you think I’m in that kind of trouble anyhow?”

“You want the short list or the long?” His certainty was unshakable.

Eden stared at him. There’s no way it was _that_ obvious she was in trouble… But it wasn’t _deep_ trouble like he seemed to think. Just… ankle-deep trouble. That she was slowly sinking in. No big deal.

Besides, it wasn’t any of his business. Her “trouble” was just between her and her parents. And her siblings, sort of. And… probably the people Frank worked with... and for… But, like, at its _core,_ it was mostly just her and her parents.

“It’s nothing big,” she promised. “Nothing vigilante worthy, anyway.”

Red Hood just tilted his head, silently encouraging her to continue regardless.

“It’s just… family stuff.”

Just a looming fight between divorced parents; their adult child stuck in the middle and trying to put out the fire before it sparked. A totally normal thing for a totally normal "family".

Only, like… kicked up to a ten because Eden was a metahuman, her father was a superhero-obsessed farmer-turned-geneticist who basically stole samples of her DNA, and her mother was _not_ afraid to get her hands dirty. Especially if she perceived something as a threat to her daughter’s well-being — which Frank’s recent work and actions could _definitely_ be perceived as.

Plus, _everyone_ in that facility seemed to know about her powers. Mama would _not_ like that. That Eden regretted helping them – that she’d tried to rescind her consent, been denied, and her DNA taken anyway – just made the whole thing even messier.

The only way to hide any of it from her mother was to literally take the money Frank gave her for her "donation", run off, and hide away while she tried to string everything together. Because once Mama knew, Frank was a dead man. Unless Eden could figure out some way to cushion the information and keep her from digging deeper, there was no doubt in her mind that Mama would wipe every last trace of him – and his colleagues – off the face of the earth.

And Eden… Eden didn’t want that.

Despite everything he’d done and put her through, despite all the hurt and tears, part of her still thought of Frank as her father. As the man who read her stories every night and taught her to ride a bike and a horse. The one who called her “Champ” and always carried her up on his shoulders when they went into town. Who told her she was meant for great things, encouraged her compassion, always put her back on her feet… told her he loved her every morning and every night when she was young…

They were both older now, and him colder. He’d abused her trust and love in pursuit of his own goals _again_. This time with intent. But he was still the man who, above all else, wanted to help others. Eden knew that. He just… didn’t seem to mind hurting her in the process. And a part of her hated him for it, but she still loved him, too. She couldn't stand the thought of him getting hurt, or worse.

Which, you know, with her mama a hairpin trigger away from… _removing_ him… sorta left Eden caught between a rock and a hard place. But, again, that wasn’t any of Red Hood’s business.

“It’s not that big a deal,” she stressed. “And anyway, Veronica’s the one with the scout right now, not me.” She swiped back to the picture of the man in the suit and pointed to him firmly. “He cared about getting _her_ picture, not mine. Even if he mixed us up, it still means she’s the one in _real_ trouble here.”

Red Hood hummed. The disharmony was hard to interpret, but she was willing to bet he was neither fooled by nor satisfied with her answer.

“What?” she shot back, crossing her arms, acting defensive to force the conversation forward. “It’s not _my_ fault he confused me for Veronica.”

“No, but you wanted to _keep_ him confused. In fact,” he reached over and swiped back to the traffic cam picture, “you did everything you could to make sure he _thought_ he had the right girl.”

Eden lifted her chin, waiting for the real question. Red Hood studied her, possibly waiting to see if she’d answer it herself. Maybe blubber out something as she was wont to do. But she was determined to keep her mouth shut this time.

She tipped her head, politely prompting him to continue. When he didn’t, she huffed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hood,” she said rubbing her forehead, “but I really don’t know what you’re trying to ask me here. I’m not a mind reader.”

He stayed quiet for a few more beats. His consideration shifted from her to the picture on his phone. “For now, I guess my biggest questions are why and how.”

Eden sat up a little. _“Why?”_ she repeated, not sure she understood.

“Yeah. According to my source,” he said slowly, “you two,” he nodded toward her and Aaron in the picture, “figured out the scout was there for Veronica before she’d even entered the building _and_ that he’d mixed the two of you up.”

“Right,” she agreed cautiously. “And?”

 _“And?”_ He gestured in front of him as though he’d clearly laid everything out on the table itself. “Didn’t it occur to you that if he saw the real Veronica, the scout would’ve pieced it all together and left you alone?”

 _Had_ that occurred to her? She couldn’t remember. Probably not.

But even if it had, Eden wouldn’t have wanted him to leave her alone if it meant throwing Veronica under the bus like that. Eden at least knew how she was _supposed_ to act in that kind of situation, which was more than Veronica could probably say. And besides, no matter what might’ve happened, she would’ve been fine in the end. Veronica didn’t have that guarantee. Nobody did. Except Eden.

“It was better for him to bother me than her,” she said firmly. “At the very least it threw them off her scent for a bit. Hopefully, she can get some sort of security team or something before they get too wise.”

_“They?”_

“Whoever wanted those pictures in the first place,” she explained. “I seriously doubt that scout was taking them for his own sake, or he would’ve left the moment _“Veronica”_ started noticing him.” She tilted her head at Red Hood and gave him a wicked smile. “Or did your _source_ not mention that part of my theory?”

“He did,” he said simply. “All the more reason to want to stick your head in the sand, though, don’t you think? It’s what anyone else would’ve done.”

She frowned, finally realizing what he was saying. “You Gothamites are so weird. I’d have thought a vigilante would at least understand..."

_“Uh, rude?”_

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be, but… It’s just I think I figured out what you’re really asking me, and Aaron and Veronica asked me the same thing earlier, too, and it’s just…" She shook her head, finding it hard to wrap her brain around. "Y’all…” She huffed. “Y’all’re just so _weird_ to me.”

Red Hood didn’t say anything.

“Sorry,” she said again, more genuinely. “But you’re asking me why I helped her, right? Even if it wasn’t… oh, how did Veronica say it?” She turned her head, trying to remember. “Wasn’t my problem, I think? Something like that…” She refocused on him. “Anyway, my answer to you is the same as it was for them: because it was the right thing to do.”

Red Hood made a short, unamused noise. “The right thing was pretending to be that girl? Putting yourself in danger?"

“The right thing was _helping_ her,” she corrected. “And that scout had already taken my picture anyway, so…” She swiped between the pictures. “At least I stopped him from taking the real Veronica’s picture, too.”

“But now he’s got _your_ picture.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Which means his _employer’s_ going to have your picture. If they don’t already.”

“Which they probably do, since he was using a cell phone," she pointed out.

He threw his hands in the air. _“Exactly!_ And he could be some sick, psycho fuck!"

"Well—"

"This is _Gotham_ , Ede," he went on, imploring her to listen. "Even if they know you're not Veronica, they'll know you tried to fuck with their plans for her, whatever they are. People get themselves killed for way less here. You know that, right?”

“Well, no, I... I guess I hadn’t really… considered that...” 

So _that_ was why a lot of Gothamites didn’t go out of their way to help others! Of course! There was no guarantee offering their hand to one person wouldn't put a huge target on their back with another. And nobody in their right mind would want to risk gaining the attention of one of Gotham’s scarier characters. It all made perfect sense now.

Gothamites kept their heads down and only focused on their own problems because they _had to_. If they didn't, they could very well be signing their life away. And when people asked her why she was helping others, they weren't _really_ asking her why she was helping them. They were asking why she was so willing to put her own life in danger for someone else. Something most people here _couldn't_ risk doing.

But Eden wasn't like them. No matter what happened or what anyone did to her, she would be fine. She was always fine. It didn’t mean she had to throw on a cape and go looking for trouble every day like Frank had wanted her to, but it also meant she didn’t have the same excuse as everyone else. If she could step in and help somebody, she should. She was one of the few people in this town who could handle the risk. And, most importantly, she wanted to.

“I still would’ve helped her,” she decided. “Even if someone scary thinks I’m her for a little while, or gets mad at me, at least Veronica is safe for now.”

Red Hood stared at her, unmoving. It wasn’t clear what he was thinking or feeling, but Eden could imagine he might not like what he was hearing. After all, as far as he knew, Eden was just a totally normal, would-die-and-stay-dead civilian.

“I mean, if they have any brain cells at all, they should realize pretty quickly _“Veronica”_ doesn’t look like she should, right?” she said trying to reassure him. “And even if they don’t, all they have to do is follow me home _once_ and they’ll realize they’ve got the wrong girl.” She pointed out the window. “Even a total rock-for-brains moron would start scratching their head if Veronica _Bradford_ came to a neighborhood like _this.”_

He followed her finger, seeming to consider her words. “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But they’d probably just say fuck it and stick around anyway. Especially if it was some goon following orders.”

Eden bobbed her head from side to side, agreeing with the possibility. “They’d still figure it out eventually, though. Veronica’s a socialite. And I’m _definitely_ not. Eventually, she’d post a Snapstagram story or go somewhere fancy while I’m hanging about here and things wouldn’t add up. And if they were _still_ convinced I’m Veronica after something like that, then I don’t think they’re smart enough to be considered much of a threat to anybody but themselves.”

 _“Everybody_ is a threat in this city,” he warned her. “And the last thing you want is some twisted mother fucker knowing where you live. Especially if they think you messed with them.”

“I’d rather someone like that know where I live and make my life difficult than let somebody else get hurt or killed because I didn’t help them,” she said stubbornly.

Red Hood let out a gruff, half-groaning sound as he sat back to stare up at the ceiling. "Of course you would," he grumbled. He stayed like that for a minute, perhaps trying to gauge how serious she was. He sighed, apparently finding his answer. "I don't get you. You freak out when a stranger shows up to warn you inside, but the idea of some asshole coming here and _actually_ trying to fuck with you? That doesn't scare you?"

"In my defense, this is the ninth floor and it was my _private_ fire escape. I had every right to freak out when some big stranger with guns and a mean-faced helmet suddenly showed up out of nowhere."

He scoffed.

"And I'm not completely helpless, Mr. Hood," she told him. "I have a _little_ fighting know-how under my belt."

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure. And how's your neck, again?"

"My...?" She blinked at him, then, remembering the healed cut, frowned. "Hey, I'll have you know I was doing _very_ well for myself until I got stabbed!" she said pointing at him.

He looked up again, this time as if asking a higher power for help. “So if someone broke in here with a gun or another knife, you think you'd be able to fight them off?"

“I'd be fine."

"So you _do_ think you could."

"Not really, no."

He stared at her. “Y'know... a _little_ lie might be nice right about now.”

"I could 100% fight them off no problem, Mr. Hood."

He groaned, covering his eyes. "God, you _are_ an awful liar."

Eden tried _very_ hard to suppress her giggles. “If it makes you feel any better," she offered, "I wasn’t planning on it. Pretending to be Veronica, I mean."

Red Hood sighed, but he lowered his hand and gave her his attention anyway.

"Veronica’s not very… Well, let’s say she’s not the most observant person around. And I know my foresight’s not exactly great in the heat of the moment, and I might end up paying for it eventually, but… I couldn’t just... _not_ do something when that scout noticed her, you know? She needed someone to help her and she didn't even know it. So I just… _did.”_

Red Hood let out a sharp laugh, which sounded sharper with the distortion. He looked away, subtly shaking his head. “So you just did,” he muttered to himself. He turned to her again. “Didn’t you agree not to do anything stupid before I came by again, Cookie Girl?” he teased.

Eden smiled apologetically, then turned coy. “I did _try_ , Mr. Hood,” she said sweetly. “And I promise that that was the stupidest of the stupid things I did. Which I’m willing to bet is still a million times better than the craziest thing _you’ve_ done since the last time I saw _you.”_

He put a hand on his chest. “Who me? Do something crazy? _Never_.”

“Uh-huh. You sure about that? Because I’m _pretty sure_ I heard someone say _something_ about a red vigilante being involved with that big explosion Friday night.”

“Nope. Wasn’t me. Must’ve been Red Robin. I’m completely innocent.”

Eden nodded along, not admitting she only knew of the other vigilante because she’d thought Red _Robin_ was just another of Red _Hood’s_ names until somebody corrected her.

“Oh, _completely_ innocent, I’m sure,” she goaded. “And what was it that you were doing oh-so-innocently while the bridge was blowing sky high, Mr. Hood?”

“Hey, the bridge is still standing, isn’t it? _He_ made sure there wouldn’t be any structural damage. Just a little mess of things. _He_ knows what he’s doing with shit like that.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. I sure hope he does. Especially if _he_ _also_ has a helmet full of explosives.”

“Not to worry, Ede," he assured her. _"I’m_ the crazy Red.”

“Oh. Good. I feel so much better now. Thanks."

He laughed.

“Wait.” She pointed at him. “Do you _both_ go by Red?”

“We do," he nodded, "but Double R’s usually Red if we’re using shorthand,” he said crossing his arms. “They call me Hood to keep it simple.”

“Oh, well, _that’s_ not confusing at all. Though I suppose y’all can’t exactly call him _Robin_. That’d be even more confusing.”

Red Hood scoffed. “Demon Spawn would have an absolute _fit_ if we did that.” He looked to the side. “Then again…” He rubbed his chin, seeming to consider it.

“Um,” Eden lifted a tentative finger to catch his attention. “I’m sorry, but this is Gotham City, so I’m gonna need you to clarify: do you mean, like… a _real_ demon spawn or…?”

“I mean _I_ think he is,” Red Hood joked, “but, no, not really. That’s just what I call Robin ‘cause he’s a little shit.”

She perked up. “You mean Robin like… Batman's Robin?” He nodded and Eden scoffed with certainty. “Well, he can’t be _that_ bad, then.”

Red Hood let out a short, sharp laugh. Something about it a bit painful. “Are you an expert on Robins now, Edie?”

“Well… _no,”_ she mumbled, a little embarrassed, “but if he’s a Robin then… I dunno. He can’t be all that bad.”

“Have you ever _met_ the brat?”

Eden shook her head slowly, fighting the urge to scowl.

No, she _hadn’t_ met the boy Red Hood was talking about… But she’d met one of his predecessors. And _that_ Robin? He’d saved her life. Not just from a fight or another encore. She could handle those things on her own. Poorly, sure. But she could.

No, what he’d saved her from was a life _full_ of fights and encores. And pain. Endless, _endless_ cycles of pain.

Without him, who knows where she’d be today. _Who_ she’d be. Certainly not the person she was. Not the civilian trying to make the best of an awful situation by following her theatrical dreams. If he hadn’t knocked some sense into her, she would probably be what Frank wanted her to be. A… A hero. A constantly struggling, hurting, dying, pitiful attempt of a superhero.

Robin saved her from that. From a life of wishing every day, every death, would be her last.

As far as she was concerned, she owed that boy every good goddamn thing in her life. So to hear Red Hood call her hero a brat or a demon spawn, even if it was a completely different boy, even if Red Hood obviously knew him a thousand times better than Eden knew the one she’d met… Well, it upset her. In her heart, “Robin” was still the boy from her childhood.

Though, even she could admit it was hard to remember him clearly after so many years. She could remember the way he’d spoken to her and how it had impacted her, but not most of what he’d actually said. She could remember him joking and laughing with her, but not the way it sounded. She could remember the way he’d smiled and offered his hand before lifting her up into the air, but the scene was fuzzy.

“Sorry,” Red Hood grumbled, rubbing the jawline of his helmet. “I guess you’re more of a Gothamite than we thought.”

“Huh?” She squinted at him, confused. “No, I’m not. What do you mean?”

 _“Well...”_ He leaned back, spreading out slightly. “People these days tend to be pretty protective of their Robins. Even when this one first started out and was swinging his sword everywhere—”

“This one’s got a sword?” she blurted out, shocked. 

“Yeah, a katana. He hacked up a couple of goons pretty good with it, too. Which _I_ thought was great,” he said gesturing to himself, “but B didn’t.”

“B? As in… _Batman?”_ she whispered.

He snorted at her. “He’s not the boogeyman, Ede. He’s not gonna jump out of your closet if you say his name too loud." Despite saying this, he was _clearly_ doing a quick survey of her apartment.

“Wow. I feel so reassured,” she droned. “Anyway, no, I should be the one apologizing. You clearly know this Robin well, so if you think he’s a—” her mouth twitched slightly “—a _brat_ then... you _…_ _probably_ have your reasons for it. I suppose. And I should... _respect that,_ _”_ she half-snarled.

Red Hood clapped slowly. “Wow. What a beautiful performance, Edie. How’s it feel to be such a _great_ actor?”

“Oh—” she reached over the table and shoved him “—shut it, you!”

He just laughed her off.

“You better start being nice to me, _Hood_ ," she said standing and moving toward the fridge.

“Or what?” he asked confidently.

She grinned at him. “Or you’re not getting _any_ Mad Mountain Fudge,” she teased right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY! I'm stopping this chapter here cuz we've already got enough to digest and the visit isn't even finished so.. 🥵  
> This chapter was mostly conversation but I hope it was still interesting to y'all. I tried to break it up here and there with thoughts and action, but please let me know if there's anything I could've handled better!  
> Also Jason and Eden kind of jumped around from playful to serious and back again so please let me know how that worked for you. I tried to keep it flowing like a real conversation might but I'm a little worried it might've... idk fallen a little flat? gotten confusing? idk I'm just questioning myself and would like a little reassurance if that's okay haha 😅  
> As always, any feedback is loved and appreciated!💕🥰💕


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